Champion of the Solar
by Late to the Party
Summary: He was her champion, her chosen. She seemed to act more like a schoolmistress and shrink. Stuck in a pocket plane with nowhere to go – and now he had to explain his actions? AU.  Begins BG1; IWD in place of BG2 SoA, then NWN2: SoZ. Leads to ToB.
1. Must we?

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the names, characters (except Charname – 'Solaris'), setting contained within. Bioware/Black Isle/Interplay does.

A/N: I've taken a couple of liberties with the dates, as there is a brief feature of Icewind Dale in this particular fic (as IWD1 is set in 1281 DR, IWD2 thirty years later and BG1 is set in 1368 DR… just ignore it.) NWN2: SoZ also makes an appearance. I've been wanting to write this for a while. This fic may seem a little roundabout in how it gets to ToB, but it does tie together and will get there in the end. I'd love to hear what you think, so please R&R.

Also: bonus points for anyone who gets the PS:T references.

—

"Then, let us consider, the path that brought you here, my champion."


	2. Yay birthday!

Eleasias, 1360 DR.

Today marks my twelfth year. Father brought me a 'gift'. Her name is 'Imoen'. She's not a sword, or a pony, but a freckled, grubby faced girl. At least, that's what Karan said. He was smiling, but Hull wasn't. She seems nice. When she heard that today was my birthday, she immediately declared it was _her_ birthday. She looks about eight, but she says she's nine. I don't believe her. Father won't say where he got her from, or why. She won't tell me either. Karan gave me a new quill. Hull called me a 'brat', but thought it was about time I knew how to use a dagger. I'm not sure Father approves, but he thinks I spend too much time inside. I don't understand him at all. Parda gave me three sheets of parchment, like he does every year, and Phlydia gave me a necklace. It's very pretty, but why do I need a necklace?

Ulraunt glared at me, but told me I would do well to heed my studies. I told him I was. Then he questioned me about several books; he didn't say so, but I know he was impressed. Reevor threatened to tan my hide, but gave me a small mug of dwarven ale. I don't know where he got it from, but it tasted frosty. I'm not sure if I like it. Tethtoril gave me a new journal. He does that every year. Father still makes me write an entry every day. I can't believe I have seven journals.

Last night, I had a dream.


	3. No

"You choose this as a place to begin? Tell me of your dreams."


	4. Oh, if I must!

She was beautiful. I couldn't see her face. A raven sat on her shoulder. Its eyes were black, like mine. Hers were too. I don't know how I knew. I don't want to dream again.


	5. Always is

"This was the first entry you tore out and burnt."

"I don't want to talk about it…"

"The rule of your guardian forbade you from this."

"It didn't matter what I wrote as long as I wrote something…"

"But there was more."


	6. Something dreamy?

Marpenoth, 1362 DR.

I have seen her face again. In my dreams. It is my own, older, sadder, as a woman. I don't know it. It can't be mine. The raven is always there. When I look at it, I see a skull in its eyes. A… reflection. I hate it. I try to wake up; I'm screaming but no sound comes out. My bed is sodden. Imoen says I wet myself in my sleep. I don't. My pillow would be dry if I did.

I should ask Father about the dreams. I should tell _someone_. It doesn't feel right.

Today, I study Halruaa. I am to write ten pages on it for Phlydia. Following Netheril's fate… that's as far as I've got. Jondalar will teach me more of the staff today, and then I have chores with Dreppin in the infirmary. Obe the Illusionist intends to pit me against a basilisk; I need a way to overcome it.

…I can't stop thinking about my dreams. At the corner of my eye, there is something else… something… elusive.


	7. Well, you asked

"You reflect upon your life from the perspective of dreams? An… interesting choice, godchild."

"A lifetime of study, and chores."

"You exclude the pranks your sister played, and the trouble she caused? It is all here. Mirtul 1362 DR. _'Almost two years since she arrived. I'm in trouble again. Why does no one believe me? They _know_ it's her; have I ever stolen anything? She flinches pies and smears jam down my tunic? She smiles and even Reevor's knees go weak. They're soft in the head.'_

"_Mirtul 15, 1362, 'I hate her. I wish Father had never brought her here.'_"

"I was younger then."

"As was she. Is this past truly so unimportant?"

"It was my childhood. You have my journals. It pages tell of how I spent more hours in study than in sleep. For years Imoen ran around squandering the gift we were given. She was the child."

"Was that such a grievous sin?"

"No. She was never suited to the life we were brought to."

"How different you were."

"If you are trying to convince me I was wrong– I was a child; I spent time outside, played games with her, learnt the staff, crossbow and dagger, and helped the priests. My life was filled with chores."

"Was that really so onerous?"

"No. It was at the time, but I did not know differently. Imoen did. It was not a bad life. I was happy there. We both were. We worked, we played, we grew. We were sheltered from the evils of the world, and from its beauty. Hull taught me dice and cards; Winthrop taught Imoen how to make a bed and cook. Noblemen visited, most for prestige, some for knowledge, and we heard tales of the world outside. Scholars passed through, monks died. The chanting of Alaundo's prophecies never stopped. I grew up learning them. Why would I ever have thought they concerned me? I was a bastard, a child without a mother. They assumed Gorion was my father, a – mishap from one of his 'adventures'. They thought Imoen the same. 'The bastards of the 'keep'. They were not unkind. It was a community, a family. Some were gruff, others hard, but no one was malicious. Not like my own kin."

"And so you lived, in peace, for many years."


	8. Where are the mirrors, the switches?

Kythorn 20, 1368 DR.

Father's dead.


	9. I guess it is, to y'know, an immortal

"You were still so very young."

"I was twenty."

"A child."

"I should have known."

"You still blame yourself?"

"No. I blame Bhaal, and Sarevok, and Gorion."

"Even now?"

"Even now. You have shown me Sarevok's part in this, his upbringing, and Gorion's actions. It could have been me, _should_ have been me."

She waited.

"It was never my choice."

"And of the choices before you, what you made of yourself…?"

"We've been down this road, my lady. Why now?"

"We must all reflect on what we have been, what we might have been, before we can grow."

"And lay the past to rest? Have I not already?"

"Have you?"

"…What would you know?"


	10. Does anyone?

Kythorn 30, 1368 DR.

I don't like this place. Amnish Nashkel. I – I can't do it. Khalid keeps trying to reassure me; Jaheira berates me; Imoen rolls her eyes, then hugs me when she thinks no one's looking, but I can't. I never wanted to come here. What do I care about mines? I am a scholar, a… I have no business venturing into the black depths – I…


	11. Stop reminding me!

"You were scared."

"Yes. The townsfolk spoke of demons."

"Did you believe them?"

"It didn't matter what they said. I wanted to go after the bandits. Beregost was the only town I had ever seen, and the people there were scared, hemmed in like sheep hiding from the wolves. The wolves were already in the town, hiding amongst them."

"Karlat."

"Yes, and Shank and Carbos."

"You still remember their names."

"They made me into what I am."

She waited.

"A son of Murder." One deep breath later, "I… I still remember how they came at me. In Candlekeep. I wondered for days how they got in. Another noble and his baggage. I don't know how they were hired to care for his horse. I tracked him down later, in Baldur's Gate."

"He knew nothing."

"He… did not even remember. It was beneath him. Hired hands… he let his guard to protect his property and thought no more of it."

"One man's callousness."

"And Karlat?"

"…A heartless dwarf the Realms were better off without. I… it was still a life. Jaheira cut him down as I watched…"

"You were still young."

"I was a coward, a fool."

"You were neither."

"I could not enter the mines!"

She watched him gently.

"Imoen stayed behind with me…"

"Did they resent you for it?"

He shook his head.

"Were you so very wrong?"

"She warned me. I would have been safer off with them."

"A mine is no place for two children."

"Nashkel was a blight on the land. A frontier town of thugs… bounty hunters, miners and drunks. Harlots and wives…"

"You missed your home."

"We couldn't even bury him."

"Yet you still carried the hope–"

"I cut off his hand. We – we each took a finger. The bards… the stories…"

"You took comfort in the myths."

He nodded, "Just a piece of the body would be enough… but the priests at the temple weren't strong enough."

"And so you met disappointment after murder. The Friendly Arm Inn was not the haven you hoped for."

"No. Tarnesh… he missed us the first time around. We met Khalid and Jaheira, as Gorion instructed, and headed to Nashkel. Their mission was to find the source of the Iron Crisis and rid it cause."

"Tell me of this."


	12. And I hated it, cheekpinching rabble

Flamerule 1, 1368 DR.

Khalid and Jaheira will venture on without us tomorrow. Imoen refuses to leave me alone. She doesn't want to be left behind, and will blame me for it. I… balked. We stood at the mine's entrance and I froze. I just… can't. The Foreman, Emerson, thinks we're fools; they all do. The Mayor greeted Khalid and Jaheira when we first arrived, trying to sound confident, but there's no hope in him. This town is dead. Beregost was in fear, but Nashkel is worse. I feel… numb. Eleven days since… it's too soon. I… the roads are plagued with bandits. We were attacked by three bands on the way down. They are desperate. Their leathers are in tatters, their weapons in ruins. They had knives made of stone, and sticks. Khalid told us that even the cheapest swords are worth a Duke's ransom now. I… don't care. I can't bring myself to. Gorion – I can't sleep. I keep seeing it, over and over. Jaheira feeds me vile herbs; I want to retch, but then the dreams come. I – it's too much. That sword… those words… why?

So much death since leaving. Jaheira runs the bandits off, but she and Khalid exchange looks. Imoen doesn't understand, but I do. There's… a grimness… then she ushers us along. Khalid returns a little later. I know he's killed them. Even the wolves are starved; they venture close to town. The land seems to be in crisis. Jaheira doesn't know why. She speaks of nature, and of the natural order, and seasonal balance, but she notes the weather is off. The crops don't grow; the farmers can't tend their fields. Their cows are taken by xvarts and wolves. I know little of farming. Why aren't there enough deer in the forest? Jaheira thinks the bandits have over hunted. But where are the bandits coming from? All these questions… I don't care. The answers mean nothing. But she looks thoughtful; I speak without feeling, my mind… why are there… why am I being hunted? I think they know, but they won't tell me. They won't tell Imoen either. They talk to me about Gorion, so I know they are his friends; I remember them. They visited long ago, so long ago…


	13. Yes, you do, so stop asking

"And so you refused the mines."

"I was too afraid."

"What happened after that?"

"You know what happened.


	14. Hey, shouldn't she be near a lighthouse?

Flamerule 4, 1368 DR.

Jaheira and Khalid are still not back. Imoen has dragged me to the Fair. I don't know why there's a carnival when the town is so stricken. I don't want to go, but she won't let me stay in our room all day. I don't want to get out of bed. I just want to lie there. She brings us our meals, smiles at the innkeeper and his wife, and acts like nothing's wrong. Sometimes she sits by my bed. I know she's worried, but I can't…

The Fair is… a riot of colour. If I ever go home, Dreppin will want to hear about my journey. Phlydia will insist on a page of formal writing, so I'm trying to write notes for it. It's pointless, but if I don't, I'll… I try not to think about home. I know I can't go back. Before he – Father told me to head to the Friendly Arm Inn, to find Jaheira and Khalid… I never ask about going home. Imoen looks like she will, sometimes, but doesn't. She sees it as some great adventure, always trying to keep my hopes up. What hope? What do I have to hope for? She tells me to quit feeling sorry for myself; I know I should. I try to smile. I… can't.

There was an ogre at the Fair. The mage made him explode. It made me sick. I knew it was a trick; Obe the Illusionist taught me how it works, using smoke and flashing lights, but…

We found a soothsayer in a tent, a witch. She wanted to read our fortunes. Imoen thought it would be fun, and didn't mind spending a few coins. I wanted to tell her not to waste her money, but I know that look. She was determined to try to make me forget, so telling her we might not get more coin would only have had her roll her eyes and call me 'buffleheaded'. I wish she had. The soothsayer went white. Imoen asked if she'd seen a ghost. She made us leave; outside, we heard her crying and praying. She even gave us back our money and gave us more to make us go away. It wasn't even _my_ palm she read… Imoen looked puzzled, then shrugged.


	15. Poetry, Solar? Really?

"Another clue. The pieces of the puzzle, yet veiled, increase."

"The first of several similar experiences."

"What about the rest of the fair?"

"It didn't interest me."

"You wrote about it. Your first carnival."

"Gamblers, a tent of black lotus, a few hawkers, and a few miner's wives and their children. It was deserted."

"Imoen seemed interested."

"The joker's stall." A grimace.

"It played a part."

"Please don't remind me."

"And the priestess?"

"Branwen, follower of Tempus. Turned to stone."

"You freed her."

"Imoen did."

"The scroll she obtained was read by you."

"By 'obtained', you mean stole."

"The gnome was a charlatan, profiting off another's suffering."

"Imoen distracted him. Had the scroll not worked…"

She never blinked.

He sighed, "But it did, and the battle-cleric sent him scuttling far from her gaze."

"And placed her in your debt."

"Yes."

"And then?"


	16. And his hamster, Miniature giant space

Flamerule 6, 1368 DR.

We have met a man named 'Minsc'.


	17. Guess not

"There was more to the entry."

"Does any more need to be said?"

She smiled.

"Minsc… a madman from Rashemen. Oublek, in charge of the bounties, was terrified of him. Imoen used this to great effect. Oublek knew nothing of the bounty on my head. Branwen had a debt of her own to settle, on the one who turned her to stone. Minsc pleaded for our aid; he was desperate. Wounded in battle by gnolls, he had lost his 'witch'. Branwen was honour-bound to serve us, and Imoen immediately took pity on Minsc's plight. The battle-priestess healed the berserker, and Imoen wondered if we could help. I told her no; Branwen was a warrioress, but we were not. If Branwen wished to aid Minsc, so be it. Minsc had sworn some sort of debt to us because of Branwen's healing, but was determined to go after Dynaheir."

"Was it really so simple?"

"No… An assassin awaited us in our room. Neira was her name."

"So cold, godchild, even now?"

"Branwen… I don't want to think about what happened. She made Imoen and me leave… to heal someone and… Neira knew little, but the bounty was for my death. It was issued from a place called the Undercellar, in Baldur's Gate."

"How long did you wait before moving against the gnolls?"

"We could have gone after Khalid and Jaheira in the mines. Minsc and Branwen weren't going to wait forever. I explained to both of them why we were in Nashkel."

"Did you trust them?"

"No."

"Yet you still told them."

"They knew about the bounty. Branwen questioned me; Minsc was outraged. I don't know what he saw in us, but he thought us decent folk… Branwen was more cynical, but Imoen relayed how Gorion… the battle-priestess seemed to accept it was revenge, an old foe of Gorion's. She wasn't far from the truth."

"Firkraag?"

"Gorion never told me of the wyrm."

"And for good reason, my champion. But that came later."

"Yes…"

"You had a decision to make."

"If one bounty hunter could track me to Nashkel, more could. It stood to reason… we heard nothing from Khalid and Jaheira; we could not stay in the town indefinitely…"


	18. Aren't we all? Look! A talking chicken!

Flamerule 7, 1368 DR.

It has not yet been a tenday since we entered this town. Imoen has scoured the shop and become friendly with the storekeep. He says he will pay handsomely for anyone who brings him the pelt of a winter wolf. Imoen told Minsc that the wilderness of the Sword Coast is more rugged than Rashemen, and fearsome beasts roam. Minsc laughed good-naturedly, boasting he can fell any fiend that walks the region. Her eyes lit brighter than the miner's lanterns. Fluttering her eyelashes, she asked sweetly if he could find a winter wolf. He has agreed. Branwen was both amused and unimpressed, and lectured her extensively about deceit and honour. Imoen pointed to me and asked me about manuals on the arts of war. Without thinking, I quoted deception was pivotal to victory. Branwen was not impressed. I had to backtrack and explain it was a proverb from Kara-Tur. She didn't let up about Tempus or honour for over three bells.

Tomorrow, Branwen will set off with Minsc in search of Dynaheir. Imoen thinks she likes him. I think they're mad.

I'm getting worried about Jaheira and Khalid.


	19. Teach you a lesson? Northern berserkers?

Flamerule 8, 1368 DR.

A band of 'adventurers' from Waterhaven have descended on the inn. There are four of them. Imoen tried talking to them, but they insulted her and she went away in a huff. Another group, three Amnish merchants, have also returned. They were nicer, but still aloof. Their names are Sendai, Alexander, and Delgod. I anticipate trouble


	20. This can't end well

Flamerule 10, 1368 DR.

Just when I had given up hope, Jaheira and Khalid return! And with an elf in tow, 'Xan'. The whole town is in an uproar. Mayor Ghastkill has declared a celebration in our honour. Jaheira wanted to decline, but begrudgingly accepted for the townsfolk's sake. Ghastkill explained in hushed words that after living in fear for so long, they needed to remember what it was to live again. We have all been declared 'heroes'.

…I played no part in it.

Jaheira has left Xan in Nalin's care; Nalin is the priest here, a follower of Helm. We should not have been given a share of the reward; I tried to refuse, but Khalid thought it was good for us. Jaheira was less than pleased, but said nothing. Imoen went straight to the carnival the first chance she got; Khalid went with her. We're not supposed to wander alone. If it were not for the bounty on my head…

Jaheira and I spoke at length, rather, she spoke and I listened. A half-orc, Mulahey, was at the centre of this, but she did not believe he was working alone. She explained he believed they had come to execute him on one Tranzig's orders, and found letters between them. She is too astute. 'You recognise the name', she said dispassionately, making me feel like Imoen with her hand in the cookie jar.

Briefly, I told her about Branwen. Tranzig was the one who turned her to stone. Jaheira's lips thinned. Was I wrong to send Branwen off with Minsc?


	21. I mean I'm not a sullen adolescent, nope

"And so the crisis was not resolved. It was beginning."

"You know all this."

"My champion, what have you learned?"

"History is written by the victors?"

She fixed him a long look. He sighed.

"While Jaheira attended 'nature's calling', I found myself alone. I was approached by a man… he sat beside me across the table. It was one of the few times I'd dined outside my room. Lunch time, I recall."

Her silent prompt triggered another sigh.

"Why must I tell you? You have shown me many lifetimes, many possibilities… why is it so important you hear it from me?"

"Your own words carry with them more than just their meaning."

"You have seen this, watched this. You were there, always."

"Showing you your own life would not be the same. This is _your_ story; you choose the path you wish to tell."

"I don't want to tell any of it. The past is the past."

"Oh, my champion, for all you have grown, you are yet so very young."

"Wisdom is knowing how little I know, or so the monks taught."

"Perhaps that is the beginning of wisdom, but what of the rest?"

"Fine – as you wish, my lady."


	22. I am death come for thee! Surrender and

Flamerule 10, 1368 DR.

His name was 'Nimbul'. A killer. I have read of warrior-poets, but this man was a bardic knife for hire. He spoke only in verse, fancying himself refined and cultured. Tavern brawls break out all the time, whether in a mining town or a city, or so I'm told, but murder is relatively rare, except in dockside inns and slums. That's what I believed. Once again, I am forced to reconsider the world I live in. From his lips, his enchantment caught me, and my mind became fogged. I do not remember what happened next, only that I was agreeing to go to his room and fire seared him to ash. A Thayan mage, by the name of Edwin Odesseiron, was alerted to the spell and acted. Apparently, he had suspicions about Nimbul, who had been asking around town for me. Imoen recognised Edwin, whom she had met several days earlier. In Nimbul's room, Odesseiron had found a bounty notice for my head, and was waiting to see how Nimbul would act.

Imoen and Khalid returned to finding Odesseiron explaining what was going on to the furious innkeep, who was both outraged that anyone would cast such vile enchantments under his roof, and that a patron would murder another. Despite his arrogance, Odesseiron (who described Nimbul as a 'third rate caster of unforgivable incompetence', 'simian' amongst other derogatory titles), succeeded in placating the man. Imoen's arrival was what really smoothed his feathers, and he apologised profusely to me.

I find Odesseiron's timing convenient, as does Jaheira, but she has begrudgingly accepted the Thayan's deed, and now he wishes to journey with us. What he was ever doing in Nashkel remains unknown. Why Thay would have an interest in Nashkel or its mines… I pointed out to Jaheira that Minsc was from Rashemen, but she declined to comment. She looked thoughtful. I find myself confiding in her, but I don't like how she's not telling me everything.

I offered Odesseiron my share of the gold, but he declined, brushing it aside as if it were meaningless. He hasn't spoken to me since.


	23. Why wasn't my passage quicker? Damnit

Flamerule 10, 1368 DR.

_Evenpeal –_

Imoen has given me a belt. A gift she got at the fair. She's promised me that no one will hunt me again after I put it on. I'm not sure I trust that smile, but she'd never hurt me. Khalid wouldn't let her buy anything that wasn't harmless, so I guess it's safe enough.

There aren't enough rooms at the inn for us not to share, and Jaheira and Khalid have taken one of the beds, leaving Imoen and I to share the other. There isn't even enough space for us to put our bedrolls on the floor. It's strange sleeping beside her. There's not enough room for both of us to lie on our backs, so we have to sleep side by side; I'm not sure which is worse: her nose bumping mine, or her elbows digging into my back. We agreed to rest our face on our hands. Her hair is annoying, but… she's warm. It's nice.

I promised I'd try the belt on tomorrow.

At dawn we leave for Beregost.


	24. The page you are looking for cannot be

Flamerule 11, 1368 DR.


	25. found

"Another entry scrubbed?"

"…We met up with Minsc, Dynaheir and Branwen in Beregost."

She seemed amused.

"Jaheira alerted the authorities, an officer Vai of the Flaming Fist, after we had Tranzig in our custody. She didn't trust the Fist not to botch things. Xan came with us."

"Did you have any more difficulties with bounty hunters?"

"…No, not for a while."

"So Imoen's plan worked?"

"Do we really have to talk about this?"

"What happened next?"

"Officer Vai was… not what I expected. She was not at all pleased that took the law into our own hands, even though Oublek placed a bounty on Tranzig at Ghastkill's request. We delivered Tranzig to Vai alive, or she would have had us thrown out of town. Branwen was angry, but we couldn't have fought off the Fist. After that, we joined up with Kagain, a dwarf, on the pretence of searching for his lost caravan.

"In reality, Vai issued us with a task: to locate the bandit encampment. Tranzig's letters pointed to Tazok, who was known to have a reputation of brutality. A second letter pointed towards Davaeorn, who operated out of Cloakwood. The paper trail was… longer than we expected. Xan, it turned out, was a Greycloak from Evereska and tasked to find the source of the Iron Crisis. There were… a lot of people claiming an interest in these things. Odesseiron, Khalid and Jaheira, Dynaheir, …I don't know what Branwen was doing so far south, or what her connection was with Tranzig. We later heard, from Ghastkill, that another duo, a Xzar and Montaron, had also answered the call for aid. The party from Waterhaven and the Amnish merchants went their own way."

"Your first real taste of politics."

"Yes… I didn't know who to trust. Everyone seemed to represent their own faction, carried their own agenda. Even… Gorion."

"Is that so surprising?"

"It was at the time, but no, not any more. Odesseiron and Dynaheir hated each other. Their peoples hated each other, but the two were cold in their address. Minsc was what kept them from tearing each other apart, I think, though Dynaheir kept Minsc from attacking Odesseiron. I don't know why Xan followed us; he was scarred from his ordeal in the mines and… Branwen claimed she owed us a debt. Minsc and Dynaheir claimed the same, as did Xan. I didn't know how the world worked, so I accepted it."

"Quite the assortment of individuals from very different backgrounds."

"Yes… I shouldn't have been surprised that it couldn't last. They each had their own peculiarities. I wasn't a leader; Jaheira made the decisions with Khalid."

"And yet you still had decisions to make."

"Where else could I go? Hunting bandits? I was not cut out for that sort of life."

"It seemed to suit you."

"I… learned much, as much as I could from all of them."

"You were a scholar of more than just tomes."

"I have been called many things, my lady."

"Tell me."

"Warlock, paladin, monk, druid, woodsman, godspawn, bastard, champion."

"And what do you call yourself?"

"…I don't know."

"The beginning of wisdom."

"Those descriptions are not me."

"Do you know why they named you such, godchild? Warlock?"

"Pacts with the fey, I presume, for bargains with fiends, and yourself."

"You have worn the title demonslayer and dragonslayer."

"I did not earn them."

"What bargains did you make with the denizens of the hells?"

"I allowed one to live."

"He serves you still. Mercy," the slightest smile touched her, "was, in this one instance, right for one such as he."

"He is harmless. What sort of monster would destroy a being that is so at odds with its own nature?"

"What sort of monster indeed, my champion."


	26. Dresses, earrings & Black Archer devotee

Flamerule 20, 1368 DR.

We have decided to separate into two groups. There is supposedly an old dwarven mine somewhere in the depths of Cloakwood, south of the river and north of the stunted mountain Vai referred to as 'wyvernsnest'. Tranzig's interrogation revealed little beyond vague suggestions. Vai informed us he did not survive questioning, and Xan and Branwen rejoined us. Xan seemed to find the whole affair distasteful, but Branwen held a look of satisfaction and disgust. I can't figure her out. Jaheira seemed just as grim as Vai. It doesn't bear thinking about.

I don't know how Imoen and I fit into any of this. We're going to stay in town, under Vai's supervision, not that she has time to give us 'basic training'. We're to be a point of contact for Edwin and Dynaheir. Xan is staying behind too. Elves, apparently, are hunted for trophies by bandits. Vai has told us she is not one for hearsay, but her scouts have heard reports of a forest wraith slaughtering the bandits. Undead or not, from the few bandits they captured, the killer is believed to be elven.

I can't adjust to this disguise. It's… it's so wrong. The comments have been mixed, but most seem to applaud Imoen's 'ingenuity', and believe I am less likely to be discovered this way. No one has an answer to my questions: I have already been sighted alongside the group; surely someone will work out who I am? That the bounty hunters are dead doesn't change anything. Too many people have seen me already… At least Imoen's cutting and dying her hair too. Imoen brushing and braiding my hair is strange; tomorrow, we're going clothes shopping. I hate this.


	27. But doomed to what?

Flamerule 21, 1368 DR.

We met someone named 'Garrick' today. Imoen's taken to him and he seems to have taken to _me_. She thinks it's hilarious. Garrick is the only one not in on it. There are only a few people near our age; many have turned to banditry, and the rest are farmers, or merchants, simply aren't of interest or we've not met.

I really, really hate this.

Branwen, Dynaheir and Minsc left for Cloakwood today. Jaheira, Khalid and Edwin leave with Kagain tomorrow. This can't end well.

Garrick seems to favour yellow on me; Imoen favours pink. I want light blue, or brown, or green. Vai seems to think deep red would look good on me. I don't understand how she joined in the conversation; we were sitting around a table upstairs, Imoen brought Garrick and somehow they started talking about clothes. Tomorrow, we're looking for earrings; Vai may join us. Xan says nothing. 'Necessity', he told me, 'is often uncomfortable'. I find his resignation disheartening; to that, he replied, 'we're all doomed'. I'm inclined to agree with him.


	28. Why all the questions? You already know!

"What happened after that?"

"We journeyed to Baldur's Gate."

"It was Eleint by the time Cloakwood's mines fell, and Uktar before you reached the city."

"I listened to Vai, watched and learned. She took me on as her assistant."

"And you grew used to your disguise?"

"Never."

"Then tell me of Baldur's Gate."

"Tazok was not in the bandit's camp. The camp moved every tenday, and it took Jaheira a long time to locate it. It might have been wiser sending Minsc to search, but we did not believe they were adept at subterfuge. It took them some time to find the mines, and once they had, we needed to form a plan of attack. We couldn't just walk in through the door."

"A plan you were instrumental in hatching."

"Vai's forces moved in on the bandit camp thanks to Odesseiron's communiqué with Xan; Jaheira and Khalid caused a distraction… a fire that spread throughout the camp, and Odesseiron sowed dissent amongst the various factions. The bandits were not unified; they were controlled by two bandit groups, The Chill, and The Black Talons, the former of which kept a trope of gnolls. Ardenor Crush and Taurgosz Khosann ruled in Tazok's absence, operating through lieutenants, such as Teven and Cattack. They hated each other, something Odesseiron played off. He managed to rise quite high amongst their ranks."

"A skill he proved on more than one occasion."

"Yes."

"Vai's attaché was not your only role?"

"I found myself apprenticed to Taerom, Beregost's smith. A full apprenticeship takes many years, but I learned a little."

"A lifestyle you seemed familiar with. Work and study. What of play?"

"Garrick spent much time with Imoen, and with me whenever he could. He recited poetry and brought me flowers. It was… awkward."

"So the months went by."

"We would dice and play cards in the evenings, and I would work during the day. Vai believed we should earn our keep. Imoen took over the care of a fledging Vai employed, Chloe, and helped out in the inn. Despite her words, Vai taught us basic swordplay, and when she wasn't, she had one of her men stand in. Bjornin, a paladin wounded by half-ogres, also trained with Vai's contingent, and so, with us. Xan spent some of his time instructing Imoen and myself in the Art, so we were kept busy."

"Your education did not stop when you left Candlekeep's gates."

"It might have."

"You were not disinclined to learn, nor are you a burden upon those you travel with. You were only ever inexperienced."

"We met a man, Hafiz, in the inn. He spoke to us of his dreams."

"The second seer."

"My own dreams did not cease. Rivers of blood…"

"Did you begin to suspect?"

"No."

"But you knew the prophecies."

"Did I plunge the Sword Coast into chaos? Imoen… perhaps, but not the chaos Alaundo described."

"How did Garrick respond to the news of your leaving?"

"He wanted to come with us. His mistress, Silke, was cruel and mocked him. Thespians were more interesting to Imoen than me, and she uncovered Silke's gem smuggling. She alerted Vai, who unsurprisingly, already knew, but was waiting to make her move, and used Garrick to find out more about Silke. Garrick didn't know anything about Silke's shady dealings. Silke's crimes extended to murder, and Vai saw a noose around her. Garrick, I think, believed the warmer months would last forever."

"No more assassins came?"

"They did, but they did not find us. Two groups, one of women, searched, and Vai's patrols engaged them. They were outlaws, and drew steel rather than surrender to a search. The bounty notices on them were of me before the disguise, and the price had risen."

"Vai knew?"

"She suspected. I saw the notices on her desk, but she was smart enough to put the pieces together. We had journeyed from Nashkel."

"You took part in the attacks?"

"I did. Vai's numbers were depleted, and after the camp, she lost several more. With Baldur's Gate sealed, she was not granted reinforcements, so she needed every arm."

"Your first taste of battle."

"I… killed that day. I killed many. I was sickened by the slaughter… but in the dreams, its carnage fascinated me."

"Your sire's taint."

"All I could think about was Gorion. Murder."

"But it was not murder; it was justice. The law was on your side, and you dispensed it with Vai. These mercenaries had preyed on the innocent, on the weak. The bandits had done terrible things."

"…None of that mattered. I slaughtered. My tutors had taught me well, but Sarevok taught me more."

"You did not know his name then."

"No. Gorion's murderer remained unknown to me for a long time."

"Then what happened?"

"I… faced the mine. We regrouped, after the camp, but we needed to strike decisively, before word got out of the camp's fall. We couldn't kill all the bandits; many were scattered. We left the wounded at the Friendly Arm Inn, and marched towards the Cloakwood mines."

"It was at the inn that Tarnesh made his move?"

"Yes. He somehow figured out who I was. He had seen me before the disguise. It took him a while to put it together, but he did. I… killed him. Before Jaheira could draw her sword, I left him in a pool of blood. Vai was there. Tarnesh tried to sweet-talk me, but I saw the dagger. The bounty notice confirmed it. Vai said nothing, but it confirmed her suspicions. We moved onto Cloakwood the next day. It was… horrific. We overpowered the guards on the surface, and poured into the mines. Davaeron knew we were coming, though Edwin, Xan and Dynaheir stopped anyone from scrying on us as we marched. Vai had a couple of battle-mages with her, and they did their part. I wonder if it was the lack of vision that forewarned Davaeron, or if it was simply his scouts."

"The result was the same."

"Yes… we couldn't take him alive. Edwin and Xan stopped him from portalling away, and he tried to take us all with him. Vai's spear cut his spell short, but it left us without a prisoner. Crush had also fallen, and Khosann died on his own knife rather than be taken alive. The letters from both led us to Baldur's Gate, and to the Iron Throne."

He looked away, "We took another path."


	29. Archaeologists, Honest,

Ches 3, 1369 DR.

We are marooned, shipwrecked. I thank Father once again for his magics protecting this journal and quill from the weather and decay. Our crew is lost, swept overboard during the storm. Somehow, we survived, by whatever Fate or Fortune tormenting us, we have landed in a war. Balduran, the dwarf responsible for founding Baldur's Gate, was said to have sailed into the unknown. Anchorome, legend says, was his destination. I fear we may have found his fate.

I wonder again how this happened. We needed to escape the Gate. Sarevok, son of Rieltar, heir of the Anchev dynasty, rulers of the Iron Throne, has declared us outlaws, traitors. Vai arranged for us to leave. It was supposed to be a simple task, much like any other. A small village up the coast, a captain, and a commission. Archaeologists, we would pose as, and with adepts of the Art in our group, why not? The ruins of Ulcaster were between Beregost and Nashkel; Firewine Bridge, of elven origin, stood east and south of Ulcaster, a few days journey, bordered by the Halfling village of Gullykin, and further south, Durlag's Tower, a derelict of infamy. West of Nashkel, where Dynaheir was held, a fallen stronghold occupied by gnolls. There were many ruins, though we had visited only one. I regret not taking the time to explore further. Now we may never have the chance.

We are besieged. Not by orcs, goblins, kobolds or gnolls, but monsters clad in fur. Werewolves.

We are holed up with Delainy, a 'wolfwere'. She is… an innocent caught between two warring factions. Branwen doesn't trust her; Edwin is Edwin and cares for nothing beyond himself, Dynaheir… we lost to the storm, though Minsc prays that she has washed up onshore, and Khalid and Jaheira are as ever, themselves. They do not trust easily, no matter how pleasant he is, or how sharp tongued she is. Imoen… I thought we'd lost her. I fear for her; she has been bitten, as have we all. It's only a matter of time before the curse takes hold.

We will die in ignominy, lost. We will lose ourselves, and become as beasts. Delainy tells us it will not be so, that we can fight and retain our 'humanity', but I see in her eyes she is scared. Xan was right: we are doomed.


	30. Ignoring the mines, the bandits, the

Ches 4, 1369 DR.

We've retreated to a hill, ringed on three sides by stones. Some of which we've dragged, some the mages have moved, and some Jaheira has shaped. We are trapped. We cannot hold them off forever, and the attacks increase. Both sides now hate us. Only Delainy speaks in our favour, and she is outcast. Kaishas Gan and Karoug, chieftains of the opposing factions, have agreed on two things since our arrival: each other's destruction and ours. Each want to add us to their number, but we refused.

Edwin is livid. It is quite beneath him to suffer such indignity; Minsc is already as strong as a werewolf, and Imoen is scared. Alora, the latest addition, tries to jolly our spirits. I don't want to confess my fear. Khalid is grievously wounded, and won't last much longer unless we can somehow stop these attacks. Garrick, who should never have come with us, strums and wonders what life as a monster is. I worry about Vai. The last we heard, Scar, her commander, was murdered, and I fear she is next.

There is one upside to all this. We have found an elf, Dradeel by name, and he claims to know how to reverse the curse. He is quite mad. He has been alone for… centuries. He and Xan spend time together, (which may or may not be healthy for either of them), and we have come to learn why he never left. A mage of no small talent is as helpless as a mage without talent when his spellbook is taken. Karoug has it.

We have only two choices. Hole up here until we are overcome, and inflict as many casualties on our foe as we can, or fight our way out, retrieve the spellbook and pray Dradeel is not lying about a cure. Delainy thinks we have less than a tenday. Branwen can conjure supplies, but supplies are the least of our concern. Even if we could get off the isle, we are still afflicted. Death may be preferable to this…

For the first time since Father's murder, I am truly afraid.


	31. You're not actually a Solar, are you?

"What were you afraid of?"

"Losing control. Dying to self."

"And the others?"

"About the same…"

"Delainy; how did she feel?"

"She was concerned. Afraid we would become like her foe."

"But she wasn't like others of her kind?"

"No. There was something… she was considerate. Gentle. A historian."

"A scholar like yourself?"

"Yes. We… grew very close."

"In such a short span of time? It is understandable. How did Imoen feel?"

"Jealous, I suppose, and amused."

"Tell me what you didn't write in your journal."

He closed his eyes as everything came back vividly.

"_I guess I may as well tell you now… since we're all gonna die an' all."_

_He waited, studying her._

"_Um, I dunno how to tell you this, but… well, the day ole Mister G left? Well um, I flinched his key. Y'know, the one to his desk that's all warded an' locked up… um… I found this."_

_Imoen handed him a rolled up scroll._

"_I'm… so sorry. I didn't mean to read it, well, maybe a little but…"_

_He nodded slowly._

"_I'm uh, gonna be over here, if ya need me…"_

_He broke the seal._

'_My child,' it read, 'if you are reading this…'_

"I wasn't ready for it." Snapping back to the present, he locked eyes with the being in front of him.

"How could anyone be?"

"I… it gave me an answer. I never could have imagined… but I understood. I didn't want to believe it. Bhaalspawn…"

"Godchild."

He ignored the gentle rebuke, "Such an obvious thing, but I wasn't a murderer… I was a coward. A… killer."

"You were not a coward."

Unwilling to argue the point, more memories came to the fore, "I understood who the woman in my dreams were… the raven was death. Murder. Bhaal."

"What did you do with this knowledge?"

Fixing her a look, he shook his head, "At first I was stunned, then I was angry. I couldn't deny it. It was unusual for anyone to pick up the fighting arts so quickly. I had a talent for killing. Learning how to shoot a crossbow takes a couple of tendays, but a sword takes much longer."

"You were always a quick study, my champion."

"I… lost track of those I slew. At first it was bandits, when we sacked the camp, and then werewolves… our blades were useless. Only enchanted steel did any damage… our spells were our most effective weapon. Jaheira and Khalid carried such blades, as one might expect, as did Xan – the elf bore a moonblade. I'd only ever read of them, never thought I'd see one…"

"You were impressed?"

"No. I mean, at first, but I grew used to it. It was just another sword. Blue flames licked its edge, and it glowed, but… when you see spells flung almost daily…"

"Did you tell them?"

"I asked if they knew. Jaheira and Khalid. Imoen obviously did, and she carried it in secret all those months… even knowing what I was, she still stayed with me…"

"She loved you."

"They suspected, knew. They weren't surprised. I didn't ask the others. Not at first."

"Regrets, godchild?"

"…A few."


	32. The world really is ending

Ches 5, 1369 DR.

We are going to die. We have a few more days, but I feel the changes happening already. Imoen still puts on a brave face, and Alora is as cheerful as ever. There's little point disguising myself any more; I'm tired of hiding, tired of lying. I know what I am now, what I was born to be. The others are becoming monsters, but I am already one. I didn't know. Is… Imoen like me? Fate is unkind. Why did he never tell me? Perhaps its for the best I'm stuck here. I've made a decision. I will remain here. Tonight, I go to recover Dradeel's spellbook; if the elf is not lying, the others still have a chance. For me, there is none. Even if I overcome this curse, I am still doomed. Xan was right…


	33. Wouldn't be much of a story if we had

"And did you?"

"I… I don't want to talk about this any more…"

"You slew beings you considered greater than yourself."

"Solar, please…"

"Your divine blood–"

"There should have been some sign, some – why did my powers manifest in the heat of battle?"

"My champion."


	34. Where were you when I needed a shrink?

Ches 1369 DR.

I have lost track of the days. The full moon is approaching. Both Kaishas Gan and Karoug are dead. Slain by my hand… there was… a crimson blackness. It drained the light around it. My hand gripped Karoug's throat; the werewolf towered over me… I don't know where this strength came from. My fingers were like steel, and crushed… part man, part wolf, clad in fur, and I… as easily as a rag doll. I felt his life pour into mine, and I felt alive.

They're all dead. The ship, Balduran's ship…

I went alone.

Delainy will hate me. Alora… they will despise and fear me.

I recovered the spellbook. I won't return it to Dradeel, but Xan. I… have prepared a poison. Jaheira's teachings… the isle is covered in Belladonna. I know it by another name… deadly nightshade. Atropa Belladonna. Amaryllis Belladonna, the lily, 'naked lady', grows alongside it. I would not have noticed had not Delainy pointed it out to me. This isle is a place of such beauty… if it is to be my tomb, I could not have wished for a nicer place. I… will not take the poison myself. I cannot allow the prophecy to reach fulfilment. My only hope is that the others slaughter themselves, and somehow this curse prolongs my life. I should not have gone up against the wolfkin alone.

I'm not sure how to tell Delainy Gan is dead… she came at me, claws and teeth… I don't know what came over me. All I saw was red. I don't remember what happened… I found myself standing over her remains… the village went up against me. I am… my… sire's son. I found the children… but Karoug had got to them first. Delainy said that they didn't – that they only stole… Gan and her people were already wounded when I got there. I shouldn't have gone… Karoug should have been enough. I told Gan Karoug was dead… she still attacked. Perhaps she was right. No, I know she was right.

_I_ am the abomination…


	35. Like now, Really now

Ches 1369 DR.

Delainy is heartbroken. I took her aside, to the place of flowers were we first met… where I first found her. She doesn't hate me. I don't understand why. She grieves. We… set fire to the huts today. Imoen and Alora were there. I never thought I'd see the halfling weep. Even Edwin looked appalled. Xan stood in silence, and Jaheira said a prayer. Khalid is still too wounded to move. Branwen stayed behind to guard him and Dradeel, but she is angry. Garrick's song was the saddest I've ever heard. Minsc's lament reached the isle's far shores.

I thought of Kagain today. I don't know why. I know Vai employed the dwarf, and his lost caravans were never recovered. Another loose end. I still worry for Vai. I don't know what's going on. We're… turning into monsters, and I worry about one of the most capable women I've ever met?

Balduran's ship cannot be repaired. Not with what we have, not even with our magic. We're… trapped. Xan still hasn't found the cure to the curse. We're going to search the isle again, and then comb the ship. We might have missed one… Delainy can't sense any more of them, but that doesn't mean…

The sunset was more beautiful than I deserve. We placed flowers, Amaryllis, on an outcrop overlooking the village and sea. Delainy held my hand. I remember the flowers we exchange and the kiss we shared… her lips on my cheek. She isn't angry about the disguise I wore. I think she knew. Garrick is shocked. If our situation wasn't so dire, Imoen would have rolled around laughing. Even Alora thinks it's a huge joke. I… there isn't much time left. If these are to be our final days, I'm… glad to share it with my friends…


	36. Why didn't I see this coming!

Tarsakh 1369 DR.

It's happened.

The cure was a lie.

Dradeel betrayed us.


	37. I bet she does, Wink wink nudge nudge

Eleasias 1369 DR.

Delainy was right. It has taken four months, but we have adapted. We are… flesh-without-fur again. Imoen and Jaheira mastered the changing faster than anyone else. Khalid survived. The curse saved him. I have become as Karoug. My size and strength is unrivalled. Our steel, useless against our foes, is now meaningless. Before Minsc broke his off in a wolfwere, we regarded it the difference between life and death. Now we see our claws and teeth as the difference.

So far, we've resisted Delainy's terminology, but slowly, we're adopting her words. Pack. …We are pack. I don't know which one of us it was, but Dradeel has also been infected. He seemed to be immune, or at least managed to avoid being bitten. His howls of 'bad doggie' and 'away! Stop biting my toenails!' echoes throughout the mountains.

We found Balduran's log book. It contradicts the legends surrounding the dwarf. It would shatter myth, but I find myself beyond such trivial concerns now. We hunt, we… I must hold onto whatever keeps us human, keeps us from becoming beasts… without Delainy, we would lose hope.

It has taken a long time, but Xan is deciphering Dradeel's spellbook. Dradeel is completely mad now. He runs around the isle at night howling. I have no sympathy. Alora seems sad, but then recovers herself. Minsc talks constantly to Boo; it is amazing no one has devoured the rodent yet. Garrick is uncertain what to make of himself, but finds himself drawn to Delainy now he knows I am a… man. I have to stop myself from striking at him. I feel possessive instincts stronger than my will take hold. Then she looks at me, and something of my humanity returns. I feel shame, but she understands.

Alora is half our size, even as in wolf-woman shape. We are savages. Monsters. Our meat we eat raw, and the isle is ours now. This – this isn't what I wanted. I was too late. I rule my pack. I, not Jaheira, not Minsc. Minsc and I brawled the other day. We both came away bloody, but somehow I emerged the victor. This curse ill becomes us. My fur is black… like sable, soft, smooth, like night's shadow. Writing helps focus my mind, but I fear it is only a matter of time. I feel such fierce protectiveness over my pack. My pack. Jaheira's fur is brown, mottled; Imoen's is auburn; the colour of our hair. We walk with such power, such fearlessness. We prowl, stride… but we are trapped. The urge to hunt is overwhelming, the need for meat. The need inside is greater. I crave to kill. I am still my sire's son. This… curse has only sharpened it.

Sometimes I sit by the sea and weep. As a wolf-man, I howl. Delainy comes to me, understands my anguish. The rock I've claimed only she'll approach. Imoen… she is pack-sister, Alora too. I don't know how long it will be until I lose myself. Pack-mates… that is how Delainy refers to Khalid and Jaheira. She seems nice towards Imoen, but I see the looks she levels I never saw as a man. She warns her away. Has she chosen me, or have I chosen her? Imoen growls back. I don't want them fighting over me. What have we become?


	38. Gone Yup Nothing to do with me No sir

Uktar 1369 DR.

It is cold now. The sea winds bite, and the spray is as ice. We have scoured the isle from top to bottom, explored every crag and cranny. If there are underwater caves, we have not found them. We have searched every cove, and found a tribe of sirines. We… destroyed them. One of them sang their song, bewitching Garrick. We descended upon them in fury. Delainy watched sadly, but the isle is ours. There could have been peace, should have been. Delainy explained that the sirines were a thorn in the paw, but as long as there werewolves warred with the wolfweres, they were tolerated. I… have destroyed a tribe.

We ate better than we had in months. The does and rabbits are tasty, but the sirines' soft flesh is a delicacy. We venture into the waters now. One or two of the water-folk escaped; Alora intends to trap them. Jaheira thinks we can breed them. My pack's cunning grows.

Dradeel's gone.


	39. Fire is pretty

Hammer 1370 DR.

The deep cold is here. We huddle together for warmth in our cave. We have no need of huts; we are not weak like the wolfweres. Delainy sleeps by my side. We have no spoken of pups, but she will want them. Pack-brother Garrick looks at pack-sister Imoen in ways I do not like. I will have to put the pup in his place. Pack-sister Imoen is mine. Pack-sister Alora trails after us and darts in on the hunt. She is proving adept despite her size. She will make a good mother.

We have fired Balduran's ship; we need no reminders of the mainland or the false hope of return. We have taken its treasures. I find gold of less worth than before awakening. I have taken our possessions and put them in the cave. Pack-cousin Xan studies still, as does Pack-brother Edwin. They are puny, weak, but their lore makes them strong. They defer to me. Pack-brother Edwin needed a few reminders but now he understands. I have denied him a pack-mate; it angers him but he will learn. I will not have him stealing my she-wolves. He may have a sirine if he learns his place. Garrick too.

Pack-sister Branwen and pack-brother Minsc will have cubs soon. They are strong enough that their pups will strengthen the pack.


	40. It's overrated, Rawr is more fun

Alturiak 1370 DR.

Our sirines are breeding well. Soon we shall feast. Two colds from now and we will have enough to eat one a season. They bring us fish to stop us from eating their sea-pups. It is a good arrangement.

Delainy put belladonna around my neck. She has chosen well. As strongest, I lead undisputed. Edwin challenged and lost; I beat him like an errant pup. All others know their place now. Pack-sister Imoen seems stronger than Delainy, but Delainy is knowing. She knows how to put little sisters in their place. Little Alora is fierce, but she pleases me. She and Imoen will obey Delainy for as long as Delainy is stronger. That is good.

It is good to see the full moon. Before joining, it meant nothing. Now it is welcome friend. She is beautiful. Her face is full, silver. I understand now what Delainy sees. We watch her and her sister in the seas. We swim, catch shells and crabs. It is a good life.

The dreams haven't stopped. They are stronger, distant. I feel bloodlust of the hunt. I am strong. My power grows. I feel it. My claws rend rock, my teeth destroy trees. I jump to the tallest branch. My roar shakes the stones. I smell so clearly, hear so much. I see. We spar, to test strength, to grow strong. Our claws extend, and slash like swords. We heal. I heal faster. Wounds mend.

I must not forget what it is to be human. In my dreams… I remember another lifetime. What it was to walk without vision, to be weak. I remember books…


	41. Only took us what, a year?

Ches 1371 DR.

We are pack. We are human. We have grown beyond. Pack-cousin Xan says we are ready to return. He has found a way off the isle. Delainy is scared, but supports me. Pack-brother Edwin is compliant. He has three sirine-mates and is content. Garrick still sniffs after Imoen, but she is mine. Pack-Mother Jaheira thinks we are ready. Pack-elders obey _me_. We remember what it is to be human. We have built huts, to live. We follow the Plan now. In dream, I remember, and we follow the dream. The Plan. To remember.

Delainy gave us dream. She is right. We are more than beasts. We are free. We are belonging.

Archaeologists, we remember to be. Scholars. Warriors. Students of the Art. Priestesses of nature, of Tempus. We follow me; I am the pack, and the pack is in me. The pack is us all. We leave isle soon.

We will avenge Father. We will bring down the Iron Throne. We find Vai. We remember.


	42. Talent for the obvious, you've got there

"And so, my champion, you returned."


	43. Never that simple

Tarsakh 20, 1371 DR.

We have arrived… in a town called 'Easthaven'. Something went wrong. I don't know what. A mispronounced syllable, a slightly decayed component? Pack-cousin Xan doesn't know. We are among humans again. We trained ourselves to remember. But we are far north, in a land of snow. We are lost. Hundreds of miles from Baldur's Gate. My best guess is close to a thousand miles north of the city. Neverwinter and Luskan lie south of us. With a ship, we might get back, or we could try the spell again. I am reluctant too. If it veered us so far off course last time, who knows where we might end up next?

This place is not without problems of its own. Pack-cousin Xan informs me there are ancient elven ruins somewhere in these lands. If he is right, there will be magics we can use. The next ship may not arrive until the thaw; the sea has frozen over.

Hrothgar, the mayor, has told of us his troubles. The town is besieged. He has invited us to take part in an expedition to Kuldahar. There have been 'strange happenings' there, he tells us. This siege is not the sort that can be won with sticks and steel. It is a siege of fear, and 'mysterious forces'. Hrothgar knows little more.

I smell a trap.


	44. Giant bugs in the basement Reevor Rats 2

Tarsakh 22, 1371 DR.

Easthaven is nothing more than a slum, a shanty town. It reminds me of Nashkel. The smell is different, but the taste is the same. Drying fish replaces damp mine, but the same rot infests its wood. We yearn to roam the plains, to hunt. We suppress these desires. Delainy helps. Just having her there is a reminder…

Pack-sister Branwen is at home in the temple here. Tempus, a god of battle, is the only building not of wood here. There is a strange stone they say is 'Jerrod's'. A great war took place and the stone is where the battle-priest Jerrod fell. Branwen pays homage to it, but the man-priest here, Everard, scorns it. They have argued and he is angry. I have to call Branwen to heel. We cannot reveal we are pack.

We have used what little gold-metal we have to buy weapons and armours. It feels uncomfortable, but we must blend in. Our own are tattered, and we practiced on the isle. We are ready.

Pomab, who runs the store, makes us angry. He tries to steal and cheat us. His speaks false words. We want to rip out his throat. Delainy calms. He smell _wrong_. I try to remember to write as man, to think as man. We sleep in tavern; it is strange, but we lived in huts to accustom ourselves. We share two rooms. Noises from other rooms is strange, but we remember man-noises. No grunts or growls.

The villagefolk think us fools. They want us to tidy up after them. We are not their wetnurses, we have pride. We listen to Jhonen-man who tells of dreams of spirit woman-in-lake. Pack-brother Garrick and Imoen go see. They report they find her, and she has broken sword called 'Aihonen'. Sword slew dragon Icasaracht, she tells, they say. Delainy interested in this history. I go with. We share this listening. History-tale is one that fascinates Delainy. I will tell her more history-tales later.

Apsel the Scrimshander wants us to kill little wolf-brother trapped in his workshop. Pack got very angry. Agreed to man-scrimshander's chore and freed little wolf-brother in the night. Pack doesn't like this town. But we must be men-creatures.

Tomorrow, we hunt goblins. We clear path for expedition. Hrothgar readies caravan. Tonight, we rest. Then hunt. Goblin meat will taste strange, but it will be hot and fresh. Once trust earned, Easthaven will owe. Hrothgar promise gems and gold-coins. We remember how men-things value metal.

Must tell pack-brother Edwin not to frequent tavern-brothel. She-men are not sirines. No biting. She-men are weak, fragile.


	45. Kender wannabe in Easthaven

Tarsakh 25, 1371 DR.

Hunt went well. We feast. Goblin, orc, dead. Cleared out gave. Found caravan contract. The hunt sates. We leave for Kuldahar.

We ready pack for trap. Pack-mother Jaheira agrees. Branwen yearns for battle. Brother Minsc too. Pack-cousin Xan thinks he knows were to find elf-kin ruins. He talk with Erevain-elf in tavern. We think he suspect pack, but Xan is good at remembering to be elf. Hard to think as man, but choose words carefully. Reading books help. Bought a few today for more coin than should, but knowledge is beyond wealth. Alora is friendly with tavern patrons and villagefolk. Learn much. Told her not to take what isn't pack's. Delainy enforce rule. Pack obey.


	46. Pomab's Big Mistake: Cross a Bhaalspawn

Tarsakh, 1371 DR.

Betrayed! Frost Giants attack us in pass! Pack sentries watch for ambush; narrow gap with high cliffs, one way through. We knew not to trust! Men-things in expedition buried. Snow and rock cover, but pack break free. Pass blocked. Only way through is forward. Orcs wait ahead. We smell them. Pack angry.

Can't get back to Easthaven. Pack demand blood. Will track Frost Giants to lair and tear out their throats. Kuldahar closer. Find tree-druid Arundel, pack-mother Jaheira talk to, and then we hunt. Khalid hurt, but wound mend. Pack strong. Stronger than Giants. Could not save men-things. First kill orcs blocking way. Maybe turn into pack.

Delainy think no. Honour too good for them.

Time to hunt.


	47. I know that tone

"So the journey to Kuldahar was eventful?"

"Eventful enough, my lady." He grimaced.

"But you arrived."

"After we fell upon a cave of orcs, purged a ruined mill of the orc Uligar and healed the ogre Ghereg of a headache."

"For such a ferocious pack of beasts, you stopped long enough to aid a potential foe? How interesting you claim savagery."

"I…"

"Yes, my champion?"

"Nothing, my lady."


	48. For the pack, Honest

Mirtul 2, 1371 DR.

Kuldahar is warm. There is no snow. A great tree stands at its centre. For the first time since joining, the pack is at peace. I… feel human. I do not share their calm. The turmoil of what I am stirs. It is ever present. Jaheira has spoken with Arundel, one druid to another. We are to leave this place.

Arundel seeks a stone he calls the 'heartstone gem'; I see no reason to help him. Jaheira thinks otherwise. She has said that he may be able to help with a cure. I do not trust his words. I… do not know if I want to return. As pack, we are strong, one. As man-things, we are frail, divided. Here, I can think clearly, as a man. What I am… I will need this strength. A curse that may save us, that has already saved us, but each day, we are closer to losing ourselves. We are slowly slipping. We may master it, or it may consume us. I… do not know.

Arundel cannot leave Kuldahar, and through Jaheira, warns us of forces beyond our knowledge moving against this place, against the Ten Towns. He claims they will threaten more than just the North. If he is not speaking from self-interest, the Sword Coast is at risk than a force greater than the Iron Throne. Even if he is, this is an opportunity to deny my heritage, or at least prepare for it. The North contains many ruins and many lost items of power. The knowledge I find in these lands, the allies I make… a force to rival my foe? It is an opportunity that I cannot squander; Jaheira is right. 'Balance' must be restored. The balance of our foes. We will tip the scales in our favour.

A mage, Orrick the Grey, makes his dwelling here. Edwin and Xan have lost themselves to his wares. A goblin serves him. Garrick has made himself known in the local inn, the 'Root Cellar Tavern'. Imoen, Alora, Delainy and I have taken rooms. Khalid remains with Jaheira, who spends her time in council with Arundel. When the druids converse, Khalid can be found at the smithy. He is dependable, and I trust him to sort out our supplies. We must maintain appearances.

There are two barmaids at the inn, Amelia and Lysan. Aldwin, the tavern owner, lies. I can smell it on him. Garrick, Imoen and Alora have gone to find out more. Delainy is fascinated by the gardens and the herbs and flowers. She and Jaheira converse much on the subject. Minsc and Branwen hunt yeti, scouting ahead for when we leave this place. They live for battle. I find myself alone.

It is strange to be left with my thoughts. There is wine in front of me, and Amelia smiles often. Lysan does not. She smells… different. Cold, like frost. She is pretty, but curt. I am intrigued. I keep my scent from her, for my pack's sake. This is a place of secrets and pain. There is deep pain and fear rooted here, hidden beneath the peace and warmth. Fear of loss. It is a… special place. It is so different to… home… but somehow, I am reminded… I cannot let this place fall.


	49. Not a democracy, I'm leader, me!

Mirtul 12, 1371 DR.

We have defiled a tomb and silenced the cursed spirit Kresselack. Abominations roam the vaults; we have reduced the vaults to rubble. Kresselack spoke before we buried him beneath the snows. We have come here for nothing. The Heartgem is not here. Branwen admired Kresselack's courage and petitioned her god to accept him. A warrior worthy of serving Tempus, she declared.

The effects of Kuldahar's tree are fading. We are becoming more wolf than man. We must return soon. This power comes at a terrible cost.

We have met Lysan. She has declared herself our foe. I… liked her. She is no barmaid but an Aurilite priestess; servant of frost. The pack wanted to tear her apart. I stopped them. She lies unconscious in our camp. I must decide whether to give her the gift, or take her life.

Delainy is not pleased.

Alora is not impressed.

Imoen is cross.

Jaheira disapproves.

Branwen is disgusted.

Edwin doesn't care.

Xan doesn't care.

Khalid says nothing.

Garrick agrees with me.

Minsc is confused and consults with Boo.

We could use another priestess.

I feel pity, and compassion, but the dark inside demands blood. The hunter demands blood. For this reason alone, I am inclined to show mercy. Mercy… how long has it been since I heard that word?


	50. A trick question, it has to be

"You resisted your birthright."

"She was helpless."

"A wicked young woman, servant of a cruel goddess."

"She was young…"

"Do you regret your choice?"

"No."


	51. Trying to decipher the 's's is torture

Kythorn 27, 1371 DR.

We have trudged through this wasteland for longer than I care to recall. We have faced salamanders and yeti, orcs and yuan-ti. All have fallen, and we are no closer to finding the Frost Giants that took Hrothgar's life than when we started. We have reduced a warren called the 'Dragon's Eye' to nothing, slaughtering all inside but the slaves. Whatever the serpent-men were expecting, we were not it. We have recovered the Heartstone, and returned to Kuldahar's peace. It's warmth will be welcome.

We are still pack, but we are man. There is no need to hide our true selves outside of the towns; we descended through the tunnels like a storm. Our jaws closed around the throats of our foes, our claws rent flesh from scale, and tore apart their insides. The wounds they inflict seal within moments; their poison slows, but does not stop us. With each kill, I grow stronger. We are the hunters, and our prey, once arrogant, learnt fear before the end. It is not so easy to gloat when the hunted hunt back.

I have seen more death in the past month than I have in twenty years of life. The conditions down here are horrific. Nothing I have ever witnessed could have prepared me for such atrocities. A month ago, I might have shown mercy to a hapless yuan-ti. Now I slay even those cowering at my feet. Dragon's Eye reeks most foully. Blood cannot cleanse what has happened here, but it will prevent worse. We have fired everything, to prevent the dead from rising. Branwen has prayed over the area, as has Jaheira. After what I've seen, I hold no faith in the gods, but if they are as good as my pack-sisters claim, they will seal this place forever. By my order, the statues of the snake goddesses were shattered, and their holy pools defiled.

Yxunomei, a marilith is behind this infestation. She is the one who stole the Heartstone gem, whose followers feasted on children while her torturers plied their craft on the townsfolk. We could not save them. She recognised the taint within me, and tried to bargain, speaking of a vendetta against an 'old friend'. Before we sent her back to the hells, we discovered Erevain, the elf from Easthaven, in her lair. Perhaps his spirit will return in Kuldahar's sanctuary, but given the violence of his death, I doubt it. We will return the body.

If I ever see another yuan-ti, I will not allow it the chance to talk.


	52. Who didn't see that one coming?

Flamerule 3, 1371 DR.

We are betrayed. Arundel lies dead.


	53. Do you?

"Tell me what happened."

"We arrived too late. The druid was poisoned in our absence. There was an impostor there to feed us false knowledge, but we smelt the wrongness and fell upon him. He portalled away before we could end him."

"Kuldahar was under siege."

"Had we only cut a path to Arundel, the townsfolk would have been slaughtered."

"Instead you divided your pack and set upon the invaders, while you, Jaheira and Edwin forced your way to the archdruid."

"We should have used a portal. Xan had Dradeel's spellbook."

"And if you had, and you ended up in distant Thay, Chult or Kara-Tur, what then?"

"Arundel would have died for nothing, but the Heartstone would be safe."

"And Kuldahar would have fallen, along with the rest of the Ten Towns."

"Chaos was sown from my passage."

"Then your battles were for naught?"

"I didn't say that…"

"Then tell me how it felt."

"It felt good. I felt alive. The hunt, the rush of blood… the red haze, the frenzy. Murder was in my bones. It was my essence, my being. It was what I was born for. My claws ripped apart scale and flesh, crushed the snake-men, and I felt no regret. I felt joy. I delighted in their death, revelled in it. The scent of their blood was ecstasy. They were abominations, part man, mostly snake. They sacrificed sentients… I crushed their eggs."

"And after the bloodlust faded?"

"I felt… nothing."

"Their spears, their swords, how close did they come to ending you?"

"Close… but I was stronger. Faster. I had reason to destroy them."

"More reason than they?"

"Yes… Solar, why are you asking me this?"

"Do you miss the thrill of battle?"


	54. Once I get over myself, sure

Flamerule 26, 1371 DR.

We have arrived in the Severed Hand, the ruined elven fortress Xan spoke of. Those in Kuldahar are dead, or fled for Easthaven. We repelled the assault, but we could not repel their fear. With Arundel's death, panic set in. The Orogs were not sent by the demoness Yxunomei, but by another. If they belong to her 'old friend', then Kresselack spoke true. Unless there is another faction out there, we have rid ourselves of one foe only to leave another free to act.

I should have stayed my hand and tortured the knowledge from Yxunomei's lying tongue. If she did not send the Frost Giants that ambushed us, who did? Who launched the attack on Kuldahar? Who is responsible for Arundel's murder? Who commands the orcs that ambushed us after we broke free from the avalanche?

I could turn and march towards East Haven, or set out for Targos. I could find a ship and lead my pack to Luskan, Neverwinter, and then south to Baldur's Gate. But there is a debt to settle. First Hrothgar, now Arundel. I am tired of assassins chasing me. This will end. I will make it end.

We are in a tomb. Even Alora's cheeriness has faded. The tower is bleak, a shadow on the snows. The dead have risen, and we find ourselves once again in the midst of war. The guardians of this place, the slain, rise up to halt the invaders – and us. Raised by the blackest of arts, the shades of goblins and orcs battle endlessly with the defenders. This place is cursed beyond any I've yet seen. Were a necromancer to cast his spells, it would be a simple matter of seeking out the source of his evil and razing it, but this is… worse.

It is a place of woe, where the dead set traps for the living. We are ambushed at every stair, set upon 'round every corner. The elves barely recognise their own, and Xan's misery and despair grows. Alora cannot cheer him, nor Imoen jolly him. Jaheira is as silent as the slain, and I have never seen Khalid so grim. Even Minsc has fallen quiet. Branwen's war cries echo hollowly. I have no words for any of them.

I am less wolf than man, but there is something deeper, something within tugging at me, calling at me. Each time we enter battle, I lose part of myself. Small, but growing. I do not remember our skirmishes; the red haze descends. We roam as wolf-men, stalking through the shattered corridors and shredding any who stand in our way. We take wounds, many wounds; I have been cut, sliced, pierced, and bludgeoned. Even torn muscle binds itself. With each blow I take, my hide grows stronger; my pelt is no longer pierced so easily. I shake off strikes that would have left me stunned. Those I do take knits faster than before. Minsc and Branwen are the same, even Khalid. All of my pack are stronger. Even little Alora. Delainy is disturbed by how easily we kill, but she too crushes the skulls of the fleshless.

I run faster, leap further, and land from distances I once thought would kill me. We climb walls, crawl over ceilings, and drop down on our prey. Darkness is no barrier. Doors cannot stop us. We have smashed our way through.

For all that, we are missing something, something inside. The banter we shared, the quips, are gone. We have lost something of ourselves. Whether it is the journey, or this place, I do not know. What we have seen… I could not protect them from. My pack feels it, knows it. Even Garrick has stopped strumming, his song silent. Will we ever laugh again?


	55. Probably

Flamerule 28, 1371 DR.

We have found the master of this tomb. Larrel, a lich. An elf. Xan is horrified. Undeath has driven Larrel mad, a mirror of what may happen to us. He blasted a squirrel he believed a dwarf in front of us without acknowledging we were there. Xan has no prophecies of doom, only silence. We have learned little from this lich, but Delainy has inquired of the tower's history. The tale is one of sadness, and anguish. Before its fall, its dwellers knew it as the 'Seldarine Tower'.

Can such a curse ever be lifted?


	56. You're a Solar, not a shrink!

"But you did lift it."

"I…"

"You set the souls of the dead to rest."

"It wasn't that simple."

"You still grieve for them?"

"They were all dead…" Closing his eyes, he sighed heavily. "Evayne, Larrel's daughter, a child… she believed her mother still alive. Kaylessa, the weapons trainer, who asked us to free her after freeing her students from undeath… Lethias… the priestess Denaini… Lehland… Custhantos and his library… It never should have happened."

"But it did, my champion."

"Denaini broke the curse, not us. She and Larrel."

"She told you how to get through to Larrel."

"His daughter… his little girl…"

"And in that moment, when madness brought on by grief was pierced, the curse was broken. Without you, the shades could not have been quelled long enough for that to happen."

"Why are you trying to convince me?"

"Why are you doubting yourself?"


	57. Dorn has a cousin named for headgear

Flamerule 30, 1371 DR.

Larrel is gone. The Seldarine Tower is gone. Xan tells us it is in another plane. He seems quieter before, subdued. Before Larrel used the Heartstone and cast his spells, he gave Xan access to the library. A last gift, from one mage to another. Edwin, however, was given nothing. Xan took only one tome, entitled 'Mythal Theory'. We have also taken several armours, elven mail of a size. The dead won't miss it. Armed with elven steel, arrows and bows, we set off towards another ruin. A dwarven city, lost to time. The Heartstone reveals that is the source of Yxunomei's 'old friend', the evil that attacked Kuldahar.

Xan has the Heartstone, and Larrel has told him how to use it.

Dorm's Deep cannot hide our foe from us.


	58. Isn't Nym a girl's name?

"Dorm's Deep was a maze. A coalition of orcs, orogs, drow and their slaves. There were several lieutenants, but we tore through them. We descended further and further down, until we came upon the drow, Malavon Despana."

"You had not encountered drow before."

"No. Had Xan not fought with a grim silence, I might not have known how much his people were despised by their dark kin. His moonblade flared like a beacon, and they came at us in waves, like beings possessed. Their minotaur slaves did not fight with the same frenzy. Like Xan, Malavon was a mage. While Edwin held off the hordes, the two went at each other."

"And you?"

"I led the rest of the pack forward. Minsc and Branwen took the left, Khalid and Jaheira the right. Delainy watched my back, while Alora stayed with Imoen and Garrick. We were the ambushers, and we fell upon the drow. We each took a tunnel, and struck from different directions. It threw them into confusion."

"And chaos was sown in your passage?"

"Yes."

"Was Malavon the foe you sought?"

"You know he wasn't. He was nothing more than a pawn. Another drow, Nym, posing as a storekeep, was responsible for the feud that saw the Seldarine Tower fall. He wasn't Yxunomei's 'old friend' either, but he owed a debt."

"Then you came to learn how the Seldarine Tower fell?"

"A feud between it and Dorm's Deep. It weakened both enough for orcs to pour in and break the elven defences."

"One drow did all this?" The Solar's tone was mild.

"I should have killed him."

"But you didn't."

"He was a merchant, seemingly unarmed…"

"He was a drow."

"You can't accuse me for that–!"

"I'm not," she told him gently, "but you did. You still do."

He looked away.

"You could not have brought the fallen back."

"I might have stopped it from ever happening again."

"You had no proof."

"The smugness was proof enough."

"Was it?"

"We found a traitor, an elf, Ilmadia. She was in league with Nym. Xan's fury was beyond words. She did not cry for mercy, but I stopped him."

"Why?"

"We needed information."

"Was that the only reason?"

"Delainy… she…"

"You were not the monster you believed."

"I was worse."

"Yet you spared her."

"She… was with child."

"Had you known then what you know now, would you still have stayed Xan's hand?"


	59. If he hadn't, we wouldn't still be here

Eleasias 2, 1371 DR.

We have fought the source of the evil. 'Brother' Poquelin, a false Ilmatari. He revealed himself to us after we butchered our way to him. He tried to destroy us, but he failed.

Garrick is dead.

Alora…


	60. What's the point of a journal, then?

"It wasn't your fault."

"I led them there."

"You faced Poquelin alone. You were reckless, my champion."

"They would die if I did not."

"And still they threw themselves in harm's way, and took the spells meant for you?"

"Poquelin's fire left Garrick as ash…"

She waited for him.

"Alora's blade… her courage…"

"You were never a part of Poquelin's plans. You disrupted everything."

"He said he anticipated Yxunomei's arrival, that she followed him. That his 'superiors' felt their war was out of control, and banished him from Baator."

"You believe that?"

"No. It was nothing more than a distraction, a bid to seize control of Jerrod's Stone. They hated each other, but one of them, Yxunomei or Poquelin, would have reopened the portal. Jerrod's Stone was the seal."

"And so it led you back to Easthaven."

"Everard was murdered in front of us. Pomab… I should have killed him when I had the chance. He betrayed Easthaven, and for what? Coin? Power? He was Poquelin's, and Poquelin did not need to speak. Pomab gave himself, gave his soul, without a second thought."

"Did you ever ask why?"

"He was a hedgewizard, a lesser mage."

"And envy bred inside him as a heated cauldron boils. He was despised by everyone. Everard was a priest of Tempus, not of Ilmater."

"You're defending him?" Incredulousness bloomed.

"I am showing you there was more. Hrothgar was not kind to him. He tolerated Pomab, but that was all."

"Even so."

"Had you slain the shopkeeper, the town would have turned on you. You could not have stopped Hrothgar's death."

"So free will is meaningless. It is already written."

"You could not have prevented it with what you had."

"Branwen avenged her brother. She only told me afterwards…"

"Did that make a difference?"

"Yes." Shaking his head, he sighed, "It's in the journal."

"I would hear it from you."


	61. Quick! Stab him!

_Battle raged. The pack tore through the deserted streets. Easthaven burned. Tempus' temple, built around Jerrod's Stone, was the target. Now with the town in his grasp, Poquelin shed his mask, becoming the baatezu Belhifet. The Frost Giants responsible for the avalanche that killed Hrothgar stood guard. With the aid of an ancient artefact of immense power, the Crenshinibon, Belhifet sealed the temple. A Cryshal Tirith, tower of crystal, encased it. Belhifet had not moved until he had Crenshinibon in his possession. After decades of searching, the baatezu was finally ready to make his move._

_Claws tore at shins and unguarded faces, the werewolves leaping to slash at the helmed giants. Dodging hammer blows and axe sweeps, they hamstrung their foe, tearing out their throats and eyes. Minsc flew into a burning house, his ribs crushed. Branwen went berserk, drawing on her god's battle fury._

_Khalid fought like a man possessed, his sword flashing as he retained his half-elven form. Jaheira called lightning from the skies, and fire fanned from Edwin's hands. The ring of Frost Giants crumpled, and with the Heartstone, the crystal was breached._

_Inside, Belhifet toyed with the blade _Aihonen_, slayer of Icasaracht, Jhonen lying dead at his feet. Sea-blued in face, hair as night, his Ilmatari robes, crimson, were a mockery. His face, too beautiful, to be mortal, seemed human. Before him stood Jerrod's stone. The blade _Aihonen_, restored, he set aside disdainfully, his thoughtful expression deepening._

_He opened his mouth to speak._


	62. I don't like your answer

"And battle was met."

"One godchild against a baatezu."

"Solar… why did Branwen never tell me of Jerrod's Stone? The truth. Delainy and I heard the legend, but there was more to it… why was it allowed in the first place?"

"The gods allow what they allow. Perhaps it is to inspire those left behind. Without such evil, can there be good?"

"You sound like Parda."

"I repeat only your own words."

"It isn't enough."

"Will anything be?"

"…No. I still don't understand why she…"

"She was a cleric of Tempus. Battle was her life."

"But Minsc…"

"She believed him dead."

"Had she not…"

"Would she have chosen differently?"

"I… suppose… no. No, she would not."

"That is your answer, godchild."


	63. Except tie up the loose ends

Eleasias, 1371 DR.

Easthaven is no more. All that remains is a stone. Branwen's stone. The portal is sealed. Belhifet is gone. I plunged Aihonen through him myself. At the last, when all seemed lost, I snatched the wyrm slayer. Branwen chose that moment to act… Belhifet turned. I… gave myself over to my sire's taint. Something of the baatezu remains inside the blade. I can feel it. I would cast it into the portal, but it is sealed.

What victory is this? We have stopped a war, but we have lost so much. Kuldahar's tree stands, but the town is desolate; Easthaven is razed. Is one town worth the salvation of ten? Of the North? Of the Realms?

Minsc may recover. Alora… I do not know. We all bear wounds beyond any human endurance. We are not human. We are… pack. We live as one, we die as one. But… the pack is reduced. Garrick, my pack-brother, is dead. Branwen is gone. Imoen survives. Edwin's blood keeps his robe the colour of his order. Xan… did he die with Larrel's passing? Or has he finally awoken? Jaheira and Khalid stand as always.

I carry the blade Aihonen. None know of our actions here. It is better that way. The gods watch over this place, but only they know the truth. They, and the dead.

It is time to return. We have done all we can here.


	64. Would've been nice to know at the time

"Solaris, will exclude your dreams?"

"They were the same as ever. The light at the edge of my vision… you."

"Yes, my champion."

"You guided me, watched me, watched over me."

"Kuldahar was your proving ground."

"The real battle…"

"Despana was not done with you."

"I slew Malavon."

"You slew a clone."

"I should have hunted Nym."

"But you did not."


	65. But now no one remembers us!

Eleasias, 1371 DR.

We returned to find our worst fears were confirmed. Baldur's Gate was a city occupied by the Amnish. In our absence, there was a war. A terrible, terrible war. Much of the 'Gate was razed. Sarevok Anchev raised Bhaal's banner, and marched on Amn. The cowled wizards, ruling body of Athkatla, the jewel in Amn's crown, were powerless to prevent his approach. A guild war ravaged the southern city, leaving it open for conquest. Sarevok set the city ablaze and moved south, towards Tethyr and the city of Saradush. There he met the armies of Yaga-Shura the Fire Giant, and nothing more was heard, from either of them.

The Fist, depleted by Sarevok's wars, were too few in number to repel a counter-attack. The Order of the Radiant Hart, the knight paladins based in Athkatla, declared the northern city traitor, betrayers of humanity, for harbouring Sarevok the Bhaalspawn. They named him 'Terror of the Sword Coast', and marched on the 'Gate to prevent reinforcements. Most of their number were destroyed in Sarevok's initial assault, but the Order galvanised itself from the ashes. Calling upon followers of the god Helm, they launched their campaign. In any other circumstances, it would have been laughable. The city of Baldur's Gate offered scant resistance and surrendered after two days. The survivors of the Iron Throne were publicly executed, and the sole remaining Grand Duke was forced to step down. The ruling Council of Four was officially disbanded. Three of its leaders were dead by Sarevok's assassins, and the last went into hiding.

Baldur's Gate is now a protectorate of Amn. The other great cities, Neverwinter, Luskan, and Waterdeep, refuse to acknowledge it as a political entity. The streets around the Ducal Palace are patrolled with a token force, and the paladins hole up inside. Disillusionment stalks the streets as despair stalked the Seldarine Tower. The city seems deserted.

Vai was one of the officers in the march south. Asking questions is dangerous. No one, not even the innkeepers, wish to talk. I am now certain Sarevok was my father – Gorion's – killer.

No one knows about the North, and even if they did, they wouldn't care. Easthaven is half a continent away.

…We never should have left.


	66. Home, Yeah, That

Eleint 14, 1371 DR.

All the high priests are dead. There's no one here able to raise our fallen. Garrick will have to wait. Somehow, we have kept hold of Gorion's remains. There are no necromancers in our group, so we cannot commune with his spirit. To indulge in such practices is an abomination. We cannot defile his memory.

Delainy is fascinated and repulsed by the city. Its sight, its sounds, its smell… its sewers reek. She has never seen so many people gathered in one place before. The market intrigues her, but it is nothing like what it was. Everything is overpriced, even the simplest dyed cloth. Food is scarce, and there is little to hunt. The sewers are choked with the dead, and it is only a matter of time before they rise, or someone raises them. Minsc lives, but he is shaken. Alora has come through. She is easily unsettled, and sleeps in Delainy's arms at night. She has always liked hugs and tickles and kisses, but now she is less playful and holds tightly to her pack-sisters. She doesn't like to be left alone. Imoen stays with her; she misses Garrick, we all do. Alora is especially sad. Minsc doesn't talk much any more. He grieves for Branwen and Dynaheir.

We need to leave here. There is no one left of influence who might help us. The Amnish are conscripting to bolster their ranks.

I have formulated a plan. We head south, to Ulcaster. It was once a school of magic, according to legend, and its dead still walk its halls. I hope to find a book we can trade for passage into Candlekeep. We could copy the Mythal Theory but I agree with Xan: it is too dangerous to leave lying around for just anyone to read. None of us have forgotten the Seldarine Tower. My hope is Candlekeep will have a tome on the curse we are afflicted with. Perhaps even a cure. We could scale the walls, and bring down the guards easily, but I cannot endorse such an assault, not against those I grew up around… It may be that Ulcaster has what we need. There is less chance of being recognised there than in Candlekeep.

Imoen is unsure we should pursue this, and has insisted I wear the belt again. Delainy agrees. I do not like this mask, but I cannot deny them when they look at me like that. We have changed clothes and dyed our hair blonde; Delainy is fascinated with changing colour, and she, Alora and Imoen have spent a long time playing with face-powders, kohl and dyes. Jaheira has joined them, and they all insist that I learn. Edwin has added his own views, speaking long about oils, earrings, and hair. He has not spoken of Thay since we left for Balduran's isle. I think he misses Dynaheir. Minsc sits by himself, and Xan spends his days in study.

The inn we are at is cramped. We share a room with eight straw pallets. It smells of stale ale, sweat, damp, rot, and worse. Our noses wrinkle constantly, and we have to remind ourselves not to paw at them. In man-shape, it doesn't sting so much. I keep thinking back to the North, and Belhifet. I cannot be sure we killed him and Yxunomei; if Xan is right, we merely delayed them. He and Edwin have argued long over this, but there is no fire in either of them. Even Edwin's bite is subdued. At night, I dream of rivers of blood, of the raven and the woman who shares my face. I see a skull surrounded by tears set against a golden disk in mockery of a halo. Daggers of bone float around me, grip first, and I see the bodies of my enemies waiting for me to end them. Sometimes their faces are veiled, and some are those I've already slain. A death beyond death awaits them… the skull watches in silence; it should be dead, but I know that there is an awareness. It is malicious. My sire…

Much of the time Khalid and Jaheira are silent. Her comments are half-hearted, and she has not grumbled in many days. Her last declaration of the city being a blight on the landscape carried no conviction. We are all tired. Only Delainy seems unaffected. With so many new sights and sounds, her curiosity has quelled despair. She is learning healing and the Art. More and more, she asks questions, and I am drawn to answer. She cannot imagine a library, but she could not imagine a city. When we wake she is there, and each day is filled with promise. I feel ashamed for not sharing her enthusiasm, and wistful when I think of the solace I once enjoyed. Imoen shares this, her face taking on a dreamy cast when think of the gardens and halls. She has dreamed of adventure since the day we met, and always believed we would return, even if we set off again on new journeys. Since Nashkel, she has slept at my side, and each morning I awake between her, Delainy and Alora. I don't remember how it was before we were pack.

It's time we went home.


	67. Why do the gods hate me?

Eleint 19, 1371 DR.

We have met a girl named 'Skie'. She claims to be nineteen years old, but Imoen thinks she's sixteen. Skie claims to have been sold to a brothel by her lover, a man named Eldoth, after her father and brother were killed. She will not say how they died, or who was responsible. She speaks like a noble, but she will not survive long out here alone. She is lost and desperate. The roads are no place for a girl. She is not pack.


	68. Stop reading between the lines, damnit!

"What didn't the journal say?"

He closed his eyes. Visions of the past filled him.

"_My feet hurt. Can we stop now? I'm hungry. Can't we buy some bread?"_

_His eyes met Imoen's; hers rolled. Delainy walked ahead with Alora, while Khalid and Jaheira took the rear. Minsc scouted on ahead, and Edwin and Xan conversed in low voices on some matter of magic some way behind. The complaining has been incessant. How she had got as far as she had was an achievement that defied imagination. At first he wondered if it was a trap, but he had learned to smell lies on man-things; her once-fine dress was tattered, her shoes were scuffed, and her hazel hair was in disarray. Her eyes were red from crying, and dark rings hung under them. Directing Edwin and Minsc to check for bandits in the trees and bushes, he listened as Jaheira questioned the girl. The looks levelled in his direction were mixed. Somehow, the girl ended up in his care. Khalid, soft-spoken as always, felt it was better she was around those nearer her age. Skie had tagged along without question, pausing only to ask if they were stopping at an inn._

"_I think I've got a blister."_

_After three hours, as they headed towards the Friendly Arm Inn, he had enough. In an uncharacteristic flash of irritation, he broke his word-fast. "You remember Therlog and Skilora," He caught Imoen's eye._

_She frowned, but played along, "Sure I do. Therlog was…"_

"_An orc."_

"_Yeah, that's right."_

"_And Skilora was a halfling lass, much like Alora."_

"_Hey!" Alora called on from ahead. Both she and Delainy had slowed to listen._

_Skie glanced back and forth at the two, wondering where the tale was leading._

"_That's right! A big, orc. Yup. Tall an' green."_

"_And thick as a mast. Skilora never stopped talking."_

_Imoen grinned, "Nope! Never shut up."_

"_So one day, while they were on the road, Therlog growled the first words he'd spoken in two tendays, 'Chatter-child stop talk, or Therlog spank!'"_

"_You know what happened next, right?" Imoen asked knowingly._

"_Skilora ran away."_

"_Oh," Skie blinked._

"_Yup. As far as she could."_

"_And straight into the camp of three ogres. Now, Skilora was hungry by now and being a pickpocket, she couldn't resist…"_

"_So she robbed the ogres blind." Imoen nodded sagely._

"_Oh!" Skie's eyes widened._

"_Gutsy little lass, she was."_

"_But then she fell asleep. See, the ogres were hunting and hoping to catch a bear, so they left food out."_

"_Oh dear…"_

"_Yup. Terrible."_

"_So Skilora woke up in a cookpot. It was bigger than she was."_

"_They were some ugly ogres. Big nosed, with warts. One missing an' ear. The ugliest had a big spiked club taller than Therlog."_

"_The water bubbled. They added roots."_

"_Yup. Gotta sweeten her up! Tasty bit of meat, Halflings. Gotta get 'em just right."_

"_She prayed to the gods, pleaded with the ogres, and wished she'd never run away. The ogres didn't listen. The water grew hotter and hotter."_

"_Did – did they eat her?"_

"_The ugly one – ugliest – licked his chops."_

_Imoen leaned closer._

"_But as fortune would have it, Therlog was a kensai. Just as Skilora gave up all hope and started to cry, Therlog burst through the trees into the camp."_

"_Oh, thank goodness! What happened next?"_

"_Go Therlog!" Alora chipped in._

"_Well, Therlog threw an axe at the nearest, pulled out his sword, which was longer than he was, and roared a battle cry. The ogres were so scared they forgot to fight; one ran away, and Therlog dispatched the other. But the water kept on bubbling."_

"_Oh no… poor Skilora…"_

"_But Therlog knocked the cauldron over."_

"_So she lived!" Skie let out a deep breath._

"_Yup." Imoen examined her fingernails for imaginary dirt, then buffed them on her tunic._

"_And you know what Skilora did after that?"_

_Imoen grinned; Delainy shook her head._

"_She never complained again."_

The solar looked faintly amused.

"Delainy told me off for that later."

She listened.

"_That was mean."_

"_I know."_

"_You shouldn't tease. She's a pup without her pack."_

"_She's old enough not to whine."_

"_She's scared."_

"_You don't have nobles who spoil their children. I grew up seeing visiting nobles and their pups walk through the halls as if they owned the keep."_

"_What are… nobles?"_

"_Pack leaders who don't hunt, but live soft. Servants – lesser pack-brothers and sisters – bring them food. They sit around playing games with each other, but not chase, or hide, and not with pups. Their games are with words, for territory and yellow metal."_

"_I… don't think I like these nobles."_

"_Skie is the daughter of a pack leader."_

"What did Skie think?"

"She wasn't sure what to make of me."

"Your disguise?"

"Partly. Khalid and Jaheira were clearly older, and Jaheira told everyone what to do, but Skie noticed that she obeyed when I spoke. Jaheira would advise, but we didn't argue for long. She thought Delainy was strange, but I explained she was raised in the country far from civilisation, so she accepted her way of speaking. Skie was just grateful to have others around, and food and drink in her belly. She only had a little coin; Eldoth took all of it from her, and she had to steal to survive. She knew the brothel would want her back, so she had to escape the city."

"What happened then?"

"We reached the Friendly Arm Inn. There were few travellers there, an arrogant noble wearing garish pantaloons he claimed were spun from gold, several drunks, and the gnomish innkeeper and his wife. We were able to buy her more practical clothing, though it was daylight banditry, and kit her out with a simple rapier and dagger. The temple there was of no use to us."

"A rapier seems a strange choice for a child."

"She claimed to have had lessons from her brother's swordmaster."

"So she wasn't defenceless?"

"Not as much as I first believed, but she had little experience outside the city. It took her a while to get used to being in a group, but she got on well with Alora and Imoen, and Delainy. The others were older, or more aloof. She… would have liked Garrick, I think."

"Despite not being pack?"


	69. Did ya really think they would?

Eleint 23, 1371 DR.

The Friendly Arm Inn is much as I remember it. A veritable fortress, a converted temple of Bhaal. It has been days since we slept under a roof, and the inn is two days behind us. Skie wanted to know why we didn't buy tents; she talks about camping trips from when she was younger, and how this is a little like that. I don't like to crush her spirit now she's perked up. The complaints have reduced since we got her proper boots, but she tires easily. She claims she learned dance, but I question how dedicated she was. Edwin assures me that dancers in Thay have a great deal of stamina. I did not like his implication, or the way he looks at her. Still, it is good that the pack are slowly returning to their former selves.

Imoen and Skie share stories and trade jokes, and Alora joins in. Delainy listens from one side, sometimes walking with me and sometimes not. It takes us many days to tire. As pack, we are strong. As man-shapes, we are lesser, but we cannot run free here. Perhaps it is for the best. As wolves and wolf-mans, we forget to think as men.

The roads have not changed. We… I… it is strange walking these stones. So much has changed, so much has happened… wars, the joining, Belhifet– the Iron Throne has fallen. Sarevok remains at large, if he is not already dead. I feel a sense of deep dissatisfaction, and… things are unresolved. I hope with Ulcaster, I can finally put some of the shades to rest.


	70. A safe assumption, Right?

Marpenoth 1, 1371 DR.

We have passed through Beregost without incident. The town seems dead. Houses are shuttered and boarded up, and a few weary townsfolk roam its streets. The merchants are all but gone; a few hawkers remain, but little else. Even the smithy has closed. War has not touched it directly, but the region is bled. I had hoped things would be different… we routed the bandits, cleared the mines… iron began to flow again. How did this happen? Baldur's Gate came to ruin, but Beregost? Sarevok's draft has stolen the men from this place, leaving only widows and orphans. I dread to think of Nashkel.

Ulcaster looms in the distance. We should be there by nightfall.


	71. Yes it was Betcha weren't expectin' that

"Was it what you expected?"

"Yes, surprisingly. It was better preserved than I imagined. The roof had fallen in, but most of the walls still stood. Eroded and crumbling, but the main supports held. The doors were gone, and the lower levels were intact."

"And the curse?"

"It drew predators there… a… it was like walking through the Severed Hand again."

"Were you afraid?"

"No. We had faced worse. The damp and chill… the shadows; it was like being greeted by a familiar…"

She waited.

"Not a friend; just… it was familiar. Strangely comforting. It hid secrets, but we expected that. We could not prepare for every eventuality, but…" He shook his head.

"You were accustomed to such places."

"Yes."

"Did you find what you sought?"


	72. More terrible than Belhifet?

Marpenoth 1, 1371 DR.

A wight of terrible power, Icharyd, has made his home in the ruins. He challenged us, desiring to live again at the expense of our flesh. Xan's magic enslaved him and he answered many questions before Edwin reduced him to dust. Skie was horrified and awed. She and Alora held hands. Imoen put on a brave face and entered the under-level first. Delainy is fascinated.

We have set up camp, such as it is, beneath the entrance. Edwin has warded the surface-level, and we will know if anyone or anything enters the halls. It took us the better part of two bells to find a staircase leading down that wasn't buried under rubble.

Legend speaks of Ulcaster's spirit, but if he is in this place, we have yet to find him. Tomorrow, we begin the search. Skie cannot work out how we could find the stairs at night; Imoen remarked on other wights and Skie stifled a squeal. Khalid and Jaheira are weary, but Minsc's shoulders have slumped. Not even Boo can cheer him, and his conversations with the rodent seem to have stopped. I don't know what to say to him, but Jaheira seems to expect me to find a solution.

Tonight I noticed the stars shine differently here to Easthaven's. Delainy often gazes at the moon, but it is only now I realise what was bothering me about the sky. For nights after we got out of the city, I didn't figure it out. It is a strange thing, that even the stars should move, but they do. I must speak to Xan and Edwin, and Jaheira about this. For now, there are no stars, only ancient ceiling. We must proceed carefully; my fear of the darkness is lessened, but the threat of being buried alive is chilling. Minsc stands sentry; I will approach him at the next watch.


	73. Your Talent for the Obvious is catching

Marpenoth 2, 1371 DR.

I was wrong. Minsc's grief stems not from loss, but from frustration and despair. He has lost himself, his reason for being. Dynaheir represented more than just a companion to him, more than a charge to protect. She was his witch. I did not understand the significance of that until last night, and perhaps I still don't. It seems to be an almost sacred bond; a wychlaran and her protector. This journey for him, his dejemma, was a rite of passage; with Dynaheir dead, he has failed in the journey to manhood. Rashemen has strange customs.

I need to figure this out.


	74. It would never work

Marpenoth 2, 1371 DR.

_Noon –_

The search goes slowly. We have uncovered an alchemist's lab that has been overrun by mould. Magic has seeped in and mutated it into a predatory fungi. Xan, Edwin and Jaheira are the only ones not to recoil. Jaheira has declared it 'unnatural', but Xan and Edwin seem to feel it is a common pest that is easy dealt with. Unfortunately, we can't torch the place for fear of what might be in the lab. Instead, we have tunnelled through, or rather, Jaheira has tunnelled through, to the surface and Edwin has blown apart the paving stones allowing daylight in. Clouds blanket the sky, but the mould has retreated. Xan claims it cannot bear the touch of the sun, but I fear it may retreat into the depths and leave the lab entirely. We have set up lines of oil in case it tries to attack us during the night.

I have been thinking on the problem. Although Rashemen and Thay are mortal foes, Edwin, it seems, is alone. I find it strange. Why would he tread the Sword Coast without any sort of aid? He has often bragged of the gnoll slaves his order have raised and bred, and Thay is infamous for guarding its wizards. I wonder…


	75. Why is this written down?

Marpenoth 2, 1371 DR.

_Evenpeal –_

We have located a library. This, unlike the last four chambers, was sealed. The books are intact. Damp and mould have not set in, and we are moving our camp here. The majority of the vaults we have found are unsalvageable. Lecture halls caved in, bookshelves taken by rot, and practice rooms where the wards barely function. Most of the stores are worthless. The wards here, however, still function.

I hope we are not sealing our own tomb. There is only one way out, unless we break through the roof. Skie is unaware of our other… and it is best it remains that way. She is frequently revolted and her exclaims of 'eww' grate; Imoen is just as bad, and while Alora is practical, Imoen's encouragement towards girlishness doesn't help. Jaheira ignores it, and she and Xan scout ahead. Delainy flitters between Edwin and Xan, eager to learn all she can, while Minsc stands guard at the rear. Khalid alternates between searching and guarding, and Imoen keeps the girls out of trouble. For my part, I find myself with Xan, then Edwin. This is the happiest I've seen them in months…

I doubt the girls' curiosity will last much longer; they are eager to see what's behind every door, in every chest, and since they uncovered a student's dormitory, they've been in fits of giggles. From the underdrawers they've recovered, I strongly suspect it was a boys' dorm. Once it wears off, I expect they'll head outside. I have warned Khalid to keep an eye on them, though he would have done anyway. I would ask Minsc, but he seems less than responsive.

The mutated mould has not bothered us, but if it does, we will be ready. I hope.


	76. Mmm blood

Marpenoth 3, 1371 DR.

Somehow, it is morning. Away from the sun, it is hard to tell. I have spent all night lost in books. Neither Xan, nor Edwin, nor Delainy got any rest either. I'm not sure how it happened.

Minsc has declared he has found a pit filled with evil. It has been his first statement in over a tenday, but I do not feel it wise to doubt him. We will investigate soon. Right now, we need to eat. I hunger for raw meat, but our supplies will have to do. I will have Imoen and Alora distract Skie, and then Jaheira and Minsc can hunt. It will do them good. The thought of a fat buck makes my mouth water. I must not think of the taste of hot blood, or I will lose myself for a moment.

We are still searching for Ulcaster's shade.


	77. How mean!

Marpenoth 5, 1371 DR.

We have scoured the library for tomes. None of these are what we need to buy passage to Candlekeep, but all are worth much. We have packed them carefully in the mages' enchanted satchels. We can study them at length later. Imoen and Delainy's instruction in the Art will benefit greatly from these tomes according to Edwin. Even Xan agrees.

The pit of evil was worse than I feared. Most of the corpses had rotted, but some still held flesh. The bodies of Ulcaster's students and tutors were piled as high as the ceiling. The stench was unbearable. They still wore the robes they lived in. Jaheira has prayed over it. I still question what sort of gods would permit this.

Edwin has informed me, with some of his former disdain, that the servants of this place were magical in nature; constructs and elemental spirits summoned and set to work. He believes the guards were the same, but we have found no sign of them. The school's defences must have been neutralised, he concludes, as there appear to be no traps. Both he and Xan are disturbed by this, but neither are sharing. Something here is very wrong.

Jaheira and Minsc brought back two wild pigs. Skie's eyes went wide at the sight of them, but she did not ask how they caught them. Jaheira rested on her spear, and Skie's naivety is enough that she believes the claw marks a thrust from a spear. As well they may; they are deep enough. She did not notice both pigs' necks were snapped.

The mould has receded. The sunlight has burnt a path through, and we can approach the lab. Xan has agreed to do that tomorrow; Delainy and Jaheira will go with him. Edwin has uncovered a spellbook, and is pouring through that. Imoen, Alora and Skie will scout the ruins outside if there is enough light. Jaheira says it will rain soon, and I do not want them caught out in it. Skie's complaints over the last sniffle set my teeth on edge.


	78. And you want to trade that?

Marpenoth 9, 1371 DR.

We have finally found Ulcaster. His shade paces in what was once his office. He speaks little and always with remorse. He still mourns the loss of his school. I would feel bad about pillaging the library were it not for the fact this place is a tomb. He laments both day and night, and now we have found him, we avoid him as much as we can. He seems unaware of us, and we are no closer to learning what befell this place.

From his ramblings, there is another vault, where the most precious tomes were kept. He guards the location of it, but Edwin believes there are other relics there also. We are getting closer.


	79. Where's a priestess when you need, Oh

Marpenoth 13, 1371 DR.

An accident. A miscast spell. What was supposed to protect the school forever turned in on itself. The spell consumed those practising the Art, and later drew Icharyd to it. The wight will rise again unless the spell is completed. He will keep rising until there is nothing left. The lifeforce of Ulcaster's dead is bound to the spell; I do not know more than this. Somehow it sustains Ulcaster's shade. I will let Edwin and Xan figure it out. Imoen and Delainy try to help, but neither mage appreciates it. Jaheira mutters about 'folly' and 'unnatural', but I feel only sorrow. This place is beginning to affect us all. We should not have stayed here so long.

I fear that Ulcaster tried to cast a Mythal, and there is an artefact here holding the place together. I have not voiced these concerns to either mage, but Xan caught my eyes. He suspects the same.

When Icharyd rises, he will be stronger than before. We have little time.


	80. The wheels of prophecy e'er turn

Marpenoth 13, 1371 DR.

The school was destroyed in a battle between Calishite mages and Ulcaster and his followers. The history of the school records this. It seems Ulcaster cast one final spell to end the fighting, but it went wrong. The history does not name the spell, so perhaps I wasn't so far from the truth. Ulcaster knows, but he won't speak. I have confronted the shade and placed the history on his desk. He refuses to look at it and wails.

Is there more to this? Until we find the vault, we cannot know for sure. We need to make Ulcaster reveal it. I'm running out of ideas. We may have to retreat, but if we do, it means abandoning this place. Whatever we find here may tip the balance of what is to come in our favour.

I may have to tell Xan to use the Heartstone. Ulcaster's spell may affect any we cast; so far I have been unwilling to take that risk. We could retreat and use the Heartstone outside the school's grounds, but we would be vulnerable and the Heartstone might not pierce Ulcaster's wards. By then Icharyd may have returned. I am tempted to take the history and hand it to Candlekeep's Gatewarden. The truth about Ulcaster will fascinate the scholars there. If I cannot convince Ulcaster, I will have to. The conflict is heightening; I can feel it in my bones. There are fewer of us now, and those that are left are awakening. The time of prophecy is at hand…

I need allies.


	81. If it bleeds why won't it stay down?

"You seem pensive."

"_Therlog?" Imoen tilted her head._

_He shrugged._

"You miss them."

"Icharyd rose. By then, we had learned to shift from one shape to another without the moon."

"Something you used to great effect in Easthaven."

"Icharyd had a servant, Korax the Ghoul. Ulcaster's spell wasn't complete, but it distorted magic. It seemed random. Edwin's first spell, when he and Jaheira broke through the ceiling to bring in the light went unaffected. After that, we were concerned about what might happen, so we refrained from casting. Icharyd's return…"

"You were prepared."

"It might have been better had we not. The wards had already been set. Icharyd entered the school's under levels. Korax was the distraction. We…"

Patiently, she listened, eyes gentle, astute. She never blinked.

"Khalid kept Skie back, out of the fighting. Alora fought Korax, leading him deeper into the school. We had not explored all the passages. Imoen was outside with Jaheira, but they sensed the pack was in danger. Xan and Minsc found another colony of mould; unbeknown to us one had slipped away and planted itself. It attacked."

He took a contemplative breath, "Icharyd carried a flail. Its heads drained the warmth from flesh and added it to him. When he had slowed his victim, he would close in. Korax… Korax wanted to feast on the dead. How he came to serve Icharyd I do not know. His skin was grey, and his eyes white. A hunchback, with arms as thick as Minsc's; he carried a club. Against Alora's sword, the length of a man's forearm, he seemed unstoppable."

"Where was Delainy?"

"Elsewhere, with Edwin."

He shook his head slowly, remembering.

_The ghoul was one and a half times the size of the Halfling. His body bore two dozen marks. Cuts and stabs, her blade had flashed, crisscrossing the ghoul enough to slay a man twenty times. Korax lay on his back, moaning. The little Halfling grimly flipped her blade, preparing to end it._

_His hand caught hers; silently, he shook his head once. Their eyes locked, hers determined, his unyielding. Korax groaned, his wounds slowly beginning to close. One of his clawed hands was struck off, and his club had rolled to one side. The hunchback twitched._

_Aihonen hung naked in his hand. Beneath the steel a film of hazed red throbbed. The slayer of Icasaracht hungered. Longer than the halfling's body, it hummed silently with anticipation, awaiting the kill. Alora didn't blink, didn't back down. He set Aihonen aside. Together, they brought her shortsword down… Korax gurgled, thrashed, and twitched, then went still._

_The little Halfling turned away. He watched her leave, then glanced back at Korax. He reached for a vial of oil…_

"And the wight?"

_Aihonen burned as bright as the sun. Icharyd's flail caught it. Blazing white met icy blue. The crushing head, solid, spiked, caught the cobblestone walls, leaving impacts deep enough to cave in a man's face. He stepped forward, his blade levelled in front of him. Icharyd laughed, his voice without life. His rasp spewed taunts; his words were ignored._

_Aihonen blurred. Drawn for the first time since Belhifet, it now yearned to strike through the wight's defences and sheath itself again in a foe. It sought to strike beyond bone, into the wight's essence, to destroy it utterly. The flail could not dent it; the raking spines did not scratch it. He twisted; Icharyd recoiled, the flail deflected into a wall. The abomination tugged; Aihonen flashed, brought down on the chain between the haft and head…_

"And so, as a man, you slew the self-proclaimed greatest of warriors. This you did without the curse."

"Without the curse, I would not have Aihonen."

"After you awoke?"

_The passageway was black. Icharyd lay crumbled, his bones scattered. Flesh, twisted and dead, stretched across his body in a grotesque mockery of life. Ancient armour, plated mail, bore the marks of a thousand battles._

_The helm bore a crest, disfigured beyond recognition. He brought Aihonen down, claiming the head. The wight would rise again…_


	82. Green eyes, brothels, and oh my!

Marpenoth 17, 1371 DR.

My victory over Icharyd has bought us a few days. Delainy was horrified I had faced the wight alone. She refused to speak to me but will not leave my side for long. Her stare is concerned, but her eyes and mouth are tight with anger. Xan and Minsc suffered minor injuries, but they healed within the day. They have since rooted out and destroyed the remainder of the colony. There are three passages we have yet to search. Ulcaster's school is a grid that extends three levels beneath the surface. Without collapsed stairwells and passageways, it would be easy to navigate. The third and second level seems to be merely stores.

I understand Khalid struck off Korax's hand before shielding Skie with his own body. She has been terrified since then. Delainy will speak curtly to others, but Skie refused to speak to anyone. I approached her after Imoen and Jaheira returned, and found she was curled up in a corner. I remember seeing Imoen that way as children; she would set her chin on her knees and hug herself when scared or upset. Skie hiding herself away… the resemblance was so strong that I felt… she is not pack, but she is… ours.

I have asked her about her life before pack. She looked at me strangely, then began to cry. Delainy walked in on us, and walked away, head high and hard. She doesn't quite see Skie as pack. Sitting beside Skie or putting my arm around a pup's shoulders shouldn't anger her. Imoen says that Delainy is cross because I was reckless, not because I listen to pack-pups. She said it didn't matter Skie wasn't pack. Alora hasn't talked to me either. Imoen makes me feel stupid for not understanding.

Later, when Skie stopped crying, (after pack had eaten, I sat with her; she didn't want meat, so I didn't either,) she began to talk. She saw memories, but wouldn't say who her pack was. She tells how she used to learn dance and noble-lady things, but without detail. She was kept enclosed in her pack's den, and yearned to roam. Sneaking out became a game, then a habit. She heard singing one night, as she walked over rooftops, from a tavern. She fell in love with the song, and determined to find out who the voice belonged to. She disguised herself and waited at the tavern until he sang again. After many nights, she found him. She worked up the courage to speak to him, and he fascinated her. He was so different to anyone she knew. She spoke of how cultured and sophisticated he was, how wise and how knowing. Most of all, he listened to her. He offered her a few compliments, but challenged her. She hung off his every word.

She began to tell him about her father, and how he kept her locked away. Eldoth sympathised, and told her what she wanted to hear. He waited for her to tell him who she was, and slowly convinced her of his plan. She would bring him things, but that wasn't enough. He wanted to blackmail her father into giving them gold. He said that if her father loved her, he would pay up. Eldoth would pretend to kidnap her and she would learn if her father cared. She was apprehensive at first, but Eldoth convinced her it would be like one of his tales, living a faëry tale. Before the plan could work, her father was murdered, and Eldoth betrayed her.

She cried a lot. Delainy didn't look at me when I carried Skie to bed. She slept with her back turned to me all night. I asked Imoen if Delainy was jealous of Skie; Imoen rolled her eyes. I asked her again, and Imoen said I was missing the point. Skie's head on my shoulder was the same as Alora sitting on my lap. I don't want to ask Jaheira.

Travelling in twos seems to be working. The pack is forbidden to venture alone, but Edwin and Xan often study on their own. They spend hours in solitary chambers. I would like to join them, but there is more to explore. Khalid and I train daily; Minsc sometimes joins us. Jaheira organises the hunt and cook. I read some hours, but there is pack to consider. The days wear on and my concerns grow.

Most importantly of all, we have found Ulcaster's vault.


	83. Fetch! Chase! Hide! Ball! Cards! Dice!

Marpenoth 19, 1371 DR.

Skie is quiet. She doesn't cry or complain. She is used to being away from Eldoth. Pack has told her, individually, and in groups, that we will not let him hurt her again. She smiles more, and only says she's hungry sometimes. Jaheira keeps her well-fed, and teaches her. Delainy doesn't talk to Skie much, but she doesn't seem to dislike her. Edwin is too busy to notice, as is Xan. Minsc continues to patrol, and when he's not exploring, he makes sure no undead walk the grounds. Khalid joins him.

Imoen and Alora play with Skie a lot. Delainy doesn't join in as much any more. She spends time in the library, but doesn't talk to me. I have tried to ask her what's wrong, but she gives me a look, and returns to her reading. She looks up if I move, and if I leave the room, she waits for me but pretends not to. If I am gone for too long, she asks Jaheira where I am, and her lips purse and frown when I get back.

I have asked her to hunt with me. She hasn't given me her answer yet.

My dreams are getting worse.


	84. The most confusing of creatures

Marpenoth 20, 1371 DR.

I awoke sweat-drenched before dawn. I don't know how she knew, but Delainy looked at me. She seemed concerned, her brown eyes gentle. Then they hardened. I reached out and took her hand. She didn't take it back. I didn't sleep for a long time, but when I did, I felt her reach to touch my hair. When I woke, Alora was gone and only Delainy was there. She watched me sleep. My hand still held hers. I don't know how long she looked at me for or how long I lay there. When she sat up and took my hand, she smiled for the first time since Icharyd. We will hunt today.


	85. This has to work!

Marpenoth 23, 1371 DR.

Edwin has declared he has found a scroll that will break the curse. Xan has not commented.


	86. An 'a' makes all the difference

Marpenoth 24, 1371 DR.

Pack-brother Edwin is now Pack-sister Edwina.


	87. It's that time already? Full moon ho!

Marpenoth 24, 1371 DR.

I have not worn the disguise since we entered Ulcaster ruins. I remember Skie was surprised by the change, but asked Imoen about it. There were a lot of hushed whispers and giggling at the time, and quickly averted looks in my direction. I have offered the belt to Edwin. His wailing stopped, but began again when the disguise failed. Imoen has offered to help with his hair. Alora is sympathetic, and tries to cheer him up, but Imoen thinks it's the funniest thing and Skie agrees. Jaheira says nothing, but her lips twitch. I know she is drolly amused. Khalid tries not to laugh, but Minsc has declared loud enough for all the hills to hear that he will protect the wicked Thayan witch. Edwin retorted that he would sooner die than accept Minsc's aid, and profaned with many long words, elaborate uses of 'monkey' and variants, before despair sets in. Imoen asked sweetly if he'd rather remain a woman; Edwin ran away howling.


	88. A puddle beneath our feet

Marpenoth 27, 1371 DR.

Delainy and I have returned from another night's hunt. We roamed far. There was a storm and the rain fell in a wall. We found a cave and spent the day there until it cleared. It was too wet for a fire, so we sheltered together. Delainy changed to her human form. I had forgotten how delicate she looks when she wears that dress. She had not worn it since we left the island… it made me long for those days when we shared flowers and everything seemed simpler. I smiled when I thought of the sun on her hair, and she looked over her shoulder and smiled back. It's not as warm here; the island was more exposed. The cold seemed colder and the warmth warmer, but she is as warm as ever. She sat and combed out my hair, and by the time the rain had slowed, the chill was gone.

We hunt as wolves, but we carry a pouch with clothes hidden around our neck. We learned on Balduran's Isle that when we change, we are in our man-skin, so the mages enchanted pouches when we were remembering how to live as men. It wouldn't have mattered had Skie been pack, but she would have noticed our clothes were dry. She gaped when she saw us, mouth open, gasped in sympathy, then run to fetch our blankets. Jaheira fixed us a look and Imoen giggled. Khalid smiled and said nothing, but Alora scolded us. We didn't mind. No one remarked on the flower in Delainy's hair, but I know they noticed.

Delainy had stopped us before we entered the school, and we changed back into man-shape. Then we stood and let the rain soak our clothes, smiling at each other. We entered the under-level holding hands.


	89. We're all doomed

Marpenoth 27, 1371 DR.

_Gateclose_ –

Xan has done it. He has unravelled the spell. Ulcaster's shade is free, and Icharyd can never rise again. Xan has kept the wight's head, and he and Jaheira will cast enchantments on it so it might remain dead.

Tomorrow we head for Candlekeep.


	90. These aren't from

Marpenoth 27, 1371 DR.

_Evenpeal_ –

Xan and Edwina have packaged up the relics. There is less here than I hoped, but there are several powerful scrolls, a few wands and rods, and tomes. One such tome details the art of golem construction. Most are histories. They have salvaged much of the alchemist equipment and spell components. I am reluctant to trust the potions, but they seem satisfied. We will see.

Edwina has been inscribing tattoos with ink she has prepared from the school's stores. I'm not sure what she hopes to accomplish. Despite her affliction, she seems particularly pleased with the recovered spells. 'Stygian Ice Storm', 'Swarm Curse', 'Pain Mirror' and 'Howl of Pandemonium' she cannot wait to try; 'Shroud of Shadows' is one Imoen shows a disturbing interest in. I dread to think what she might use it for. She is already plotting with Alora and Skie.

Other objects we recovered included a pair of amber earrings; Edwina immediately took them, claiming that 'mere simians' wouldn't value their true use. She has since informed me (in her haughtiest tone) that they aid spellcasting. Whatever the case, she has benefited from the find. I overheard Imoen asking if Edwina will make a golem for her. The stinging rebuke that followed was one I could have done without hearing. Imoen's rude retort did not help either. She mentioned tattoos and regions of the anatomy that the Red Wizard is so far unused to. She apologised later, and I think they have agreed to craft a golem… I hope that they will tattoo that and not each other. Imoen attracts enough attention with her obsession with pink.

Xan was telling me, in passing, about a 'Charm of Infinite Recall' he and Minsc found. It could be useful, and the elf is attempting to scribe it into his spellbook. He also showed me a 'Mirror of Imaging'. He explained it is a lesser enchantment, and there are others like it that are far more potent. He claims to have knowledge of these. This mirror simply creates shallow reflections of its bearer, far too transient to be of much use. There are those, he says, that will turn a person's soul against themselves, giving the soul physical form. Others still will create opposites of those caught in its gaze. Others still are used for scrying. He believes he might be able to alter this mirror with spells and create other effects. If so, it will be a useful weapon in the days to come. Turning a foe against themselves would provide an edge greater than any we currently possess.

The final item is one Jaheira wished to destroy on sight. It is… a – 'Kasseg', an apparent parasite. Edwina zealously guarded the jar, cradling it to her breast and glaring at the druid. The Thayan claims it is a rare, deviant branch of the dreaded 'intellect devourers', but it is passive. Supposedly, instead of consuming the host, it boosts their mental prowess by taking over mundane thinking tasks in exchange for 'nervous energy'. Between this, she launched a spew of insults, uttering how priceless such a find was and if she could breed them, she would be unstoppable.

Jaheira coldly informed me that the mucus the Kasseg excretes is a resin that provides communication between the creature and the host is, in fact, toxic. She tells me that it scrambles the mind by lulling it into a laziness, an effect that is addictive. With enough use, the mind becomes dependant on a Kasseg to perform rudimentary functions that it has forgotten.

Edwina believes this is nonsense and some of the 'greatest minds' owe their existence to the Kasseg, who frees them from 'lower thought'. The Kasseg, apparently, dies within hours of attaching itself to a host but Edwina is already contemplating ways of extending its life. I believe he wants to bind the Kasseg in the jar to him as some sort of 'familiar'…

After so many days spent scouring this place, I hope the treasures yielded are worth our time.


	91. Especially the dead ones

Uktar 3, 1371 DR.

The gods spit on us. We reached the gates of Candlekeep only to be disallowed entry. For all our time, Ulcaster had no lore on reversing lycanthropic curses. There was an obscure, half burnt tome on lycanthropy, but it contained nothing we did not know. Since the fall of the 'Gate, Candlekeep has sealed its doors. Not even the rarest of tomes will buy entry now. The monks have invoked the wards set down when the place was built; nothing comes in or out. Guards patrol the walls night and day, and mages maintain the barrier.

It has all been a waste.

I… do not know where to go from here. Skie, dear, sweet Skie, smiles and tries to give me hope. She thinks we should return to the 'Gate and plan from there. She thinks that during the draft the city's most powerful mages were taken, and their towers were left behind. Since no one has seen or heard from Sarevok in months, she believes we should attempt to gain access to their laboratories. Others have tried, of course, but all have been repelled. Edwina's eyes have lit with the prospect of further magical wealth. Xan does not believe that mere humans will hold anything of interest, but he is interested enough to try. Imoen thinks it will be a challenge, and Alora thinks it will be fun. The truth is, I don't have a better idea.

Only Jaheira and Khalid urge caution, but even she seems at a loss. Everyone looks to me. Minsc cares not where or what we do; he has perked up a little since I pointed out that Edwina needs time to get used to being a witch, and he has taken it upon himself to teach her. He is always correcting her; it drives Edwina mad, but she has realised that she finally has someone who is willing to fetch and carry for her. If she desires a drink, Minsc will bring it to her. 'The indignity of womanhood' is not without its perks, it seems.

Delainy thinks the decision should be mine. She looks at me with those brown eyes of her, her pale face framed by hazel hair, and I know she trusts in whatever I decide. Whether I lead them wrong or right, she considers me pack and will follow. They all will.

What did I do to win such loyalty?

One alternative is Durlag's Tower, but I've had my fill of ruins for now. The rumours of its riches are widespread, but rumours are not fact. How many have fallen to the prospect of wealth only to be betrayed by its lies? Even so, I am concerned. The 'Gate is still under Amnish control. The further south we head, the more likely we are to cross the path of Bhaal's spawn. I am not ready to enter the fray yet… perhaps never. I will not risk a teleport spell so close to the 'Gate, lest we are detected and conscripted. Our best ally is anonymity; as long as we keep our heads low, we should avoid trouble.

We head for the 'Gate.


	92. Angst Angst Angst! Murder Death Kill!

"And so you returned to the city of Baldur's Gate." After a moment's consideration, she continued, "From there, you went on to breech the wards around the abandoned mage towers?"

"There was a mage named 'Ragefast'; a title designed to inspire terror. The protections surrounding the tower were far beyond rudimentary, but we pierced them all the same. Imoen – she and Alora sprung the traps, swiftly followed by a series of invocations by Xan, and Edwina laid down spells of her own as soon as Xan's took hold. It was… remarkable."

"You did not expect it to work?"

"No. Skie helped where she could, and Jaheira and Khalid stood guard. Minsc helped with the tower's guardians, and Delainy acted as his rearguard. Her few enchantments sowed confusion long enough for the others to overcome the magic summoning the elementals."

"But you still held reservations."

"Yes. Despite what we had done, we were only through the lower level. The mid-level was patrolled by goblins Ragefast had enslaved and broken. Their minds were gone…"

"But you nevertheless proceeded."

"I did. Between moving between my pack, I kept an overview."

"What did you find?"

"Little. The expedition was a waste of time. We had temporarily subdued some of the wards, overcome the summoning defensives, and slain a trope of goblins only to find Ragefast had taken everything of worth. The only thing of remote interest was a summoning circle."

The Solar gently fixed a look at him.

"…Upon the third search, Alora found plans of Ramazith's tower. Ragefast had been planning an assault on his rival's tower. We used them to bypass Ramazith's wards. What we found…" He took a steadying breath. She waited for him. "...She was almost dead. A nymph… it was… her spirit had waned. She was so close she could barely move. She didn't even have the strength to enchant us. She pleaded…"

Her look softened.

"I… Jaheira couldn't save her. Skie and Alora turned away; tears ran down Imoen's face… Khalid looked so sad. Even Edwina couldn't look. Minsc… he just stared at the floor. Delainy – she was angry, sad. Xan – they all knew what had to be done. I knew what had to be done…"

"You are not your sire's son."

"But I was… and am…"

"Murder is not mercy."

"I tried… I asked Xan if he could… he knew what I was thinking and shook his head. The bindings around her were too tight. We couldn't break them. All she wanted was to go home…"

"It was not your fault, godchild."

"Jaheira looked so grim. She would have done it for me…"

"But she did not."

"I hated myself."

"The nymph loved you for it."

"I… I know… it made it worse, somehow."

_Her slender, blue hand reached up and touched his damp cheek. She smiled, "Thank you," she whispered, sighing at the feel of water. He raised Aihonen and lowered it; she deserved a better, cleaner. Wordlessly, Jaheira handed him hers. The tower's defences had dispelled the belt's effect, temporarily. He studied her with his own eyes. She did not need to ask again._

_The scimitar arced._

_Imoen cried out; Skie burst into tears. Alora's eyes silently welled over._

_He was his father's son._


	93. If you can find one, that is

Uktar 20, 1371 DR.

A search of Ramazith's tower revealed what Xan has described as a 'portal lens'. It should latch on to any existing portals, allowing us temporary access. We do not need to travel to the host portal, only be in range. The lens will search for as long as it is charged and inform the holder. Xan believes that only a small amount of magic each day is required to keep it filled. A useful tool.


	94. Still not over that?

"What else was in the tower?"

He looked pained.

"Godchild," She prompted gently, "my champion."

It might as well have been a command.

"Letters… poetry. Imoen found them. They were… all for…" He shook himself roughly, "An… 'ode to beauty. Jewels, pearls, flowers. None compare. You are like no other, your skin like the sea. Your eyes are coral, searching for me'… A promise to return."

"It wasn't your fault."

"If I… if we had…"

"Then Easthaven would have fallen. Kuldahar would have perished."

"They fell… I couldn't save them, I couldn't save her…"

"You saved the Tree. You saved the North. Those who fled will return. They will bury their dead, and the survivors will have children, who in turn will have children. Without you, there would be no one to have children."

"Branwen…"

"Died for you. For your pack. She died for her god. She died believing what she lived. She was a warrior, just as you are. She lived for battle and died the way she wanted. You have a different battle. You have fought that war your entire life."

He looked away.


	95. Shoulda Coulda Didn't, Maybe next time

Uktar 21, 1371 DR.

We have done what we came here to do. We lack what we came for. We are no better off than before we began. A few trinkets, but at what cost? We should never have come. We tarried overlong in Ulcaster. I should have had Xan use the Heartstone gem to scry for a cure to our affliction.

Tomorrow, we investigate the remains of the Iron Throne. The building will have been stripped bare, and there will be nothing of value, but perhaps there will be some clue… some closure to all of this. I still cannot think of Sarevok as a brother… a brother is a pack-member, kin. Brother does not turn on brother. I refuse to think of Bhaal as 'father'. I should not write this down, but I need to order my thoughts. I hope the wards will still be in place and we will find _something_. Since Sarevok raised Bhaal's banner, there can be no doubt… unless he is an impostor or deluded.

Skie tells me how the Iron Throne fell to ruin after Rieltar's murder. Hearsay it happened at Candlekeep. She says that Rieltar and Brunos were leaders of the cartel, and Sarevok claimed they were struck down by 'Amnish Assassins', shadow thieves, and this was his justification for waging war on Amn. Supposedly, they were going there to foster better relationships with Amn; instead it was a trap. Since the Iron Throne saved the city from the Iron Crisis, the people were outraged. Rumours of events at Nashkel and a hidden dwarven mine in Cloakwood were quickly suppressed; instead Officer Vai was decorated as a hero for her part in clearing the bandits off the road.

It… it defies belief, but I can see why the citizens of the 'Gate believed it. Why wouldn't they? When I think on the lies, the death, the lives that were destroyed… all the needless waste… I feel a fury within that makes me both recoil and feel alive. If this is what my 'brother' can do with a few coins-peddling tradesmen behind him, what could I do? The people listened to him because he created a situation and waited until they were desperate; then he stepped in. He murdered his own 'father' to gain their sympathy and direct their anger, and then he marched off with the city's young men and guardsmen. I have little proof, but the more I hear, the more I am convinced of this. From Nashkel to Larswood, from Cloakwood to the 'Gate, I have seen one side of this – and I have heard what occurred in my absence.

Had I not quit the city, I might have been able to stop him. It is too late for regrets. When we are ready, I will have Xan use the Heartstone to scry for Sarevok, for the others. There will be an end to this. I cannot allow another Sarevok, another war. Athkatla and Baldur's Gate are destitute; Beregost is a ghost town. Nashkel may no longer exist. If this is what one of my kin can do, how much worse will the rest be? How much worse will a second Lord of Murder be? It has to stop. There is no one else. I must accept who I am… and my part in it. I will never embrace my heritage, never embrace my sire's work.

There has to be another way.


	96. With sharpened points  ow!

Uktar 22, 1371 DR.

The dreams came last night. This time, it was different… I saw myself standing before me. It was not her face, my… mother's face. It was mine. The raven flew from his shoulder to sit on my own. Its claws were as bone, and sank in, drawing blood. My doppelgänger's eyes were black, dead. Behind me, in my peripheral vision, I caught a glimpse of the white light. My reflection's eyes had no light, no mirror. I tried to see the light from his eyes, but I could not. Orbs of darkness, soul draining.

But I am not weak; I am not a child who is scared of his own shadow. The raven drew blood; I felt its razored claws digging in. This was what was responsible for the death, the carnage. The broken lives, the destruction. I thought of the nymph, the fey that did not deserve to die. She would have lived were it not for Sarevok and his march. Somehow, her beauty, her murder, represented everything that was wrong in this world, everything that was sick and twisted and perverse inside me. Everything I despise.

I turned. It hurt, hurt more than anything; right to the very depths of my being, the raven's skeletal claws struck. Pain jolted through me, webbing through my veins. Still I turned. I was a statue, rooted to the spot; my body would not move, but my will made it move. I felt something break; my ankles, my sides, my neck. I began to come apart. I was made and I could be unmade; I could be broken. The piece of me I had used, that claimed me, my sire's essence within me, tugged. It tried to hold onto me. I thought of the nymph. I heard her whispered words. Saw my tears reflected back at me, saw her smile. I smelt her hair, her scent. I turned.

I saw the light.

The raven bore down.


	97. So was Khalid, but who's counting?

Uktar 23, 1371 DR.

Something's changed. When I awoke this morning, I found blood, my blood all over me. Delainy woke before me, and it was her gasp that brought me back. She immediately began chanting under her breath; I felt warmth wash over me, but there was nothing to heal. Instead, inside I felt a… glow. I was at peace… I smiled at her. Imoen woke next, and her eyes went wide, and as soon as she determined I was alive, flung her arms around me. She immediately started scolding and questioning me. Gently, I disentangled her, and finally, told them both about my dreams.

They asked what the light was. I don't remember. I can almost see an outline, but it's… blurred. Gone. I cannot bring it to mind. I will ask Xan about the 'Charm of Infinite Recall'; if he has scribed it, perhaps he can cast it on me.

Alora and Skie are on watch. Skie sleeps on Imoen's other side usually, but none of us trust this inn or any other. Just because we've not seen any assassins, doesn't mean there aren't any. Oddly enough, Edwina seems paranoid someone will come after her; Minsc has sworn that if they do, they will meet his blade. He thinks even Boo has taken to Edwina… and despite Edwina's protests to the contrary, she seems to have taken to Boo. She feeds him snacks, nuts and resins when she thinks no one is looking. Boo even sits in her sleeve sometimes. How he gets from one to the other is not a thing that bears thinking about.

I haven't told the others about the dreams. I've no doubt Jaheira already knows. She hasn't said anything, but I know she's there if I need to talk to her.

She was… Gorion's friend.


	98. Can't choose your Lycanthropy choose you

Uktar 23, 1371 DR.

_Noon –_

Skie underwent similar hair trimming and dying to Imoen and myself before leaving Ulcaster. No one from the 'Gate recognises her. Alora too. Now the two of them are out scouting. Imoen is also out scouting with Khalid, and Jaheira is standing guard. Minsc and Xan have gone for supplies, and Edwina is still trying to study the Nether Scroll, the Kasseg and the Golem manual. I have the horrible thought that she might try to implant the Kasseg inside a golem. It keeps her out of trouble at least – for now.

Delainy has fashioned me a leather braid… the nymph left a tear in my hand. It is a blue-white crystal. I… cannot deny her. She has placed it around my neck and now it lies nestled. I would be rid of this guise, but I cannot risk my pack needlessly. I must endure it. I know Edwina has taken the nymph's hair, and I also know she would not mind. There is a warmth from the tear; it pulses softly, and even though she is gone, something of her remains. Delainy's smile is both reassuring and gentle; she does not mind, and knows what it costs me. She _wants_ me to wear the nymph's token. I… do not understand the way her mind works.

She wiped the blood off me and washed my shirt. I long for the day I can wear breaches and jerkin again. My only solace is I can wear a tunic, but leggings are not the same. I envy how easily they wear dresses and robes; how their bodies don't seem to bother them. I care for neither, but… she looks lovely. She took to dresses so quickly. When she and the girls went shopping, they came back with several outfits. The skirts she wore on the isle were long and simple; the mainland dresses are more sophisticated, elegant, and she is still beautiful. I know the next trip will involve Edwina and I being dragged out; I wonder if Jaheira will come this time… I suspect she would not resist it. For all her sternness, she possesses a droll sense of humour that is positively wicked at times. Most amusing of all is how much Edwina's attitudes towards the fairer sex have changed. She glowers balefully at anyone who so much as glances in her direction, men and women both. She has not grasped that many men find her attractive, and how much it has changes a person, a fact I am all too aware of myself.

We have readied ourselves as much as we are able. Our weapons are oiled and sit loosely in their scabbards; our mail is hidden between layers, and our bows are covered. The Severed Hand's gifts have been invaluable. The elves' mail is like silk, woven from glistening dew drops, as Xan once cited dourly. We are still pack, but we are men as well, and women, elf and half elf. No matter what we find in the Iron Throne, no matter where we go from here, we are still pack. Family.


	99. If you must wait until its bankrupt

Uktar 23, 1371 DR.

_Midnight –_

A tomb. A derelict. There weren't even guards. The once might fences had buckled, rusted and been brought down in several places. Skie described the great tower as being sheathed in green marble and draped with silk and statues. What exactly a noble's daughter was doing in such a place begs many questions. But all the trappings have been stripped. Not a single slab of marble remains. 'Ostentatious' was the word she used. It was once the tallest building in the 'Gate, taller than even Ramazith and Ragefast's towers. We counted seven stories, from cellar to roof. I don't know what is more disheartening; the fact we didn't need to sneak in, or the fact the door was open. Skie claimed the citizens believed there was a curse on the site and all who dwelt there would suffer misfortune. Even so, it didn't keep out all the rats or beggars. We covered our faces with cowls and veils, and Xan's enchantments hid us from sight, sound and scrying. Whatever wards were in place were long gone.

We found the upper stories ransacked. What once appeared to be a library of grandiose proportions had only a few broken shelves; rich, red hardwood, too chipped and scratched to be of any worth. Even the frames and shelves had been taken. It was sickening to see how much the Throne had prospered from the misery of others. The only solace was it went back to the people.

Unfortunately what appeared to be the private bedrooms were also wrecked. A great bed that could not be taken had been… defaced. What was left of the silk curtains and shredded mattress stank like a cesspit. I am surprised folk had the courage.

My pack is not pleased. We have spent most of the night searching. We have come up empty. I'm hoping Imoen, Alora, Xan and Edwina will uncover something that might have been missed, some secret compartment – anything. I am not desperate enough to use the Heartstone; Xan warns me that if any are watching, they will detect it. I knew there was a reason we didn't use it more… the rite will take several hours and I want to be out of here before daybreak. The tower is so large that it may take us three or four nights to search everywhere. Xan's spells will need renewing, and he and Imoen have readied searching aids. The giant ghostly eyeballs they conjured add a surreal, if disturbing, air. They are doing all they can, but I fear we are too late.


	100. Coulda told ya that earlier, kiddo

Uktar 26, 1371 DR.

After three days, we have turned up nothing of interest. I'm ready to call the search off. We have found several hidden cubby-holes, but they have all been cleared. The one cache we did find was a stack of fifty trade-bars, worse than worthless now. To salvage the metal, we would have to smelt it and being caught with such items would implicate us as sympathisers, scavengers, or worse, associates. Not that any other evidence would be needed if the wards on this journal was every broken. Its pages should resist scrying, appearing instead as a mundane text; a history. Edwina, Xan and Jaheira have all added their own protections to it; the elf's enchantment should have disguised its magical aura.

We have not been able to recover a single ledger. Whoever cleared this out did so efficiently and before the pillage started from what Imoen tells me. It seems to be the general consensus; too many wards, too well disguised, for just anyone to break. The city's thieves will have picked it clean. I begin to wonder if this a fool's errand.


	101. Gasp what a surprise

"Was it a complete waste?" The Solar's voice was calm.

"Worse. It was a trap."


	102. Never a good sign

1372? DR.

I do not know what day it is, nor what month. We are washed up on a strange coast. I will try to recount the events.

After searching through the Throne, we were ambushed. They were waiting for us on the ground floor. A spell… they came out of nowhere. I remember trying to lead the pack to the cellars, but they were blocking those. The stairs were blocked. The doors were blocked. Paladins… mages with cowls…

I don't know what happened. There must have been some ward we tripped, something we activated. More likely the Throne was being watched. It must have been subtle, or Xan would have detected it. We would have felt eyes on us; we were spelled against detection, magical and mundane. Tripwires and pressure plates… we searched for all these things. I now wonder if the trade-bars were witched, if they were left there deliberately. In any event, we were taken.

We awoke on a ship. A galley. They named her 'Vigilant', a nod to Amnish 'justice'. Her master was one Saemon Havarian, her pilot a halfling named Lastri Kassireh. We awoke to manacles, magical blockers. We could not shift our shape; we were drugged. Our food… a pottage-gruel was laden with compliance-inducing means, and the ship's sorceress kept our minds in haze.

My dreams were vivid. I do not know what was real and what wasn't. Between shackled to an oar and dazed, I saw the raven. It mocked me. Its bone claws dripped with blood; its obsidian, light-sucking eyes, were aware, malicious. Its beak dribbled ichor… around its neck was a golden disk, a pendant. A skull was its sigil, a skull ringed with tears. Bhaal's emblem. The raven perched on a dagger of bone. Mine for the taking. All I had to do was reach, grasp it in my hand and all would be forgiven. The wayward son would become the father. No more would my pack be in danger. Here was the power to save them. All I had to do was take it.

The cost was my soul.

The sorceress whispered into my mind. She was blond, beautiful, her porcelain skin flawless, her hourglass figure clad in green, form-fitting robes. I felt her touch as she brushed my thoughts; soft caresses, calling me…

I was too weak to fight. The dagger called to me, tugged at me; it was me. It was my essence within. The raven watched. I sensed its anticipation, its cold detachment evaporating slowly. My being pulsed with it; called to the dagger as the dagger called to it. The pommel held the tear-ringed skull. I could feel its blood lust. The voice not my own, quiet, malevolent, murmured I would learn. My fingers began to close…

The ship swayed. My whole body ached. The waves, choppy, tossed and broke against the vessel. Our oars moved in unison. Our effects had been confiscated.

White light clouded my vision. The dark voice hissed. The light was calm; peace filled me, a warmth. I had made my choice, part of my mind seemed to say. Why was I buckling? I didn't know. I felt something lift; from feeling leaden, I felt weightless. I had been led, like a calf to be slaughtered; a halter… this wasn't what I wanted. I shook my head and blinked. I felt disapproval, currents of anger. My will was my own. My essence throbbed; pain flared through me. It was agony. Spasms wracked my being, tore through my webbed thoughts.

Then I saw her.

I don't remember the rest. From what my pack tell me, there was a storm. A deadly storm. A Sahuagin attack. From the fragments, I pieced together some semblance of the events. I don't how or when the shackles stop blocking our magic, but everything happened at once. The enchantments holding our minds in thrall stopped. The sorceress lifted her spells, or had her will disrupted. Above deck, the sounds of battle reached us. There were no portholes, only space for oars. Sahuagin spears jabbed up through one, impaling Minsc in the leg. The drugs still addled us, and we were so used to refraining from shifting to man-wolf shape, we did not think to change. The ship began to go down, and I felt a voice inside urging me to act.

I yelled to Xan. I don't know what I said. He started chanting. The sorceress was forced back into the hold, three large Sahuagin striking against her wards. Her golden globe shuddered with each thrust; then it broke. The spear shattered against the layer of stone covering her, but it did not stop the teal fishmen. The smallest was above six foot, and as broad as three Minscs. I remember the webbed claws and gills; the damp scales… all the time, Xan was chanting. Edwina and Jaheira were chanting too; the others struggled to get free. Thunder boomed above us; the waves threw us, rolling the ship like an angry child with a toy…

Then blackness.

The sound of voices brought me around. A guttural language I did not recognise. They were goblins. Batiri.


	103. Dun wanna talk to yooooou

"Solaris?" She asked gently.

He shook his head.


	104. Cept for the belt an' all

1372? DR.

_Pre-Dawn –_

The few surviving Sahuagin fled. The Batiri have retreated. Our ship is wrecked, her keel broken against the sands. The waves lap gently around her now. The stars here… we are far from the 'Gate. There are corpses everywhere… my pack… are not among them. I count two dozen dead. Jungle goblins, fishmen, and the crew, our captors. Some are dying; others washed out to sea. The sands are stained with blood. My hands…

Twelve of the dead are scattered; Sahuagin spears, Batiri spears, Batiri knives, cutlass and crossbows from the crew. The rest were piled up around me.

…I was still a man.


	105. Sure ya can

1372? DR.

_Dawn –_

Our wounds have healed. It's taking longer to purge the drugs. Imoen has recovered more quickly than I expected. Minsc was heavily dosed, and is taking the longest. Little Alora is out. The pack are safe, at least. None of them drowned. Khalid carried Skie to shore, and Edwina helped Minsc. Xan and Jaheira have led the recovery of our effects. They were stowed in a hold under the cabin. Nothing is missing, and a few other items have been stowed there as well. A silver blade without a hilt is the most obvious. A more thorough inventory can be taken later.

Saemon Havarian is nowhere to be found.

Delainy is alive, and she and Imoen have scouted the immediate vicinity. They have recovered some of the ship's non-sentient cargo. The vessel appears to be Amnish. Before the ship is broken apart, I will send Xan back to salvage the manacles, and whatever else he can find in the galley's… galley.

There is one other problem. The pilot seems to be missing, but the sorceress is not. She has washed up on the sands. Her breathing is shallow, but she breathes. I can't leave her here.


	106. But where's the fun in that?

"Knowing now what you did not know then, would you alter your decision, godchild?"

"…She was helpless."

"Had she been otherwise, would it have made a difference?"

"That isn't fair. The land was hostile, the inhabitants xenophobic…"

"She held you captive. Bound you."

"And what would you have done? Left her there to die? Devoured by Batiri?"


	107. Who didn't see that coming? Again

1372? DR.

_Mid-morning –_

The sorceress has come to. She says her name is 'Cythandria'. Most of the pack are awake now.


	108. Oh my

1372? DR.

_Noon –_

She has thrown herself on my mercy. She claims she was the one who lifted the enchantment on the manacles and on us so we could escape. She is bruised, bloodied, her robes tattered, but these are superficial. Nothing is broken or sprained. She gazed up at me from my feet, half expecting me to end her. For a time, I wasn't sure that I wouldn't.

I must find out if Skie knows anything about her. I hope I do not regret this decision. I can already sense the others are not happy about this. Delainy's disapproval is evident, but I do not think any would respect me for slaying our captor. They would understand, and accept it though.

We need to find out where we are. Wherever it is, it's not the Sword Coast.


	109. That's right, off! I'm a real boy!

1372? DR.

_Dusk –_

This wasn't supposed to happen. Xan did the right thing. The ship was sinking, and we would have been lost, captives of the Sahuagin or worse. But this wasn't supposed to happen.

After spending some time in consultation, Xan, Edwina and Jaheira believe we are in Chult. This is absurd. Jaheira predicts that the tides will break the ship apart in the next few days, if the weather remains calm. Skie has suggested we make for Fort Beluarian, an outpost she claims is run by the Flaming Fist. What exactly they're doing here raises several questions, but none of them are relevant: if we don't know where we are, we can't make our way towards it.

We _could_ attempt to portal back to Baldur's Gate, but given what happened the last two times Xan uttered the incantation… Perhaps I should have Edwina scribe the spell, but if Xan's accuracy is off…

There has to be a better way of utilising the spell. Perhaps if he were to use the Heartstone, or perhaps channel the spell through the gem… or find way of adapting that mirror? I am not, however, willing to risk the Heartstone, especially when we are so far from home. Ordinarily, I would shelter took priority, but securing our presence here takes precedence. The tribe that attacked us may do so again. We can either stay here and try to salvage what little we can, or we can head inland. Even if we could repair the ship, we cannot sail it. I have decided to leave Minsc with Skie and Cythandria, as he is still not quite rid of the drugs, and the rest of the pack shall hunt.

Once we have taken the Batiri's den from them, we shall plan what to do next. Food is a concern, as is deciphering our location. The tribe may have only been defending its lands, but it should not have attacked us. Jaheira believes Batiri are hostile and unwilling to listen to reason. She does not believe they will parlay. I would try to avoid bloodshed, but that choice has already been made. I will try negotiating, but I will have the pack move into position first. As soon as Delainy and Jaheira return, we move. The Batiri will not expect a night attack; nor will they expect us to strike so quickly. It may be possible to cow the tribe into submission. I don't like it, but I don't see we have a choice. We cannot leave them to harry us. Besides, they may know where the nearest settlement is.

Since we are far from the Sword Coast, the belt stays off.


	110. Throb, eh? Oh Soooolar

1372? DR.

_Close to Midnight –_

We have tracked the Batiri to their den. There are a few huts and a cave. Their tracks were easy to follow, almost too easy. There are signs that they have dragged captives here, human and Sahuagin both. I should not wish it, but a part of me hopes Havarian is there, or at least the Halfling pilot. It may not be Kassireh's fault we were on a slaver, but it is the captain's. He may have knowledge of how we were taken, and for what purpose. I doubt he will, but he will certainly know _where_ we were headed. In such an event he does know who was behind this, I would know my foe and their reason. It cannot be Sarevok, or I would already be dead. I find it odd that the girdle's magic was not affected by the manacles.

I have asked the mages to examine them when there is time. We were able to recover eight pairs, but there are more onboard. For now, there are more important matters. Delainy wishes to accompany me, but she would rather I not go; Alora is determined, as is Imoen, but neither are pleased with my intention to parlay. I would take Jaheira, but I need her and Khalid in position. Xan and Edwina are ready to bombard the camp on my signal. Edwina has gleefully been muttering about 'fireballs' and 'roasting simians' ever since I called the hunt. Xan intends to lay a web of light down, which should stun and hold the goblins in place. Imoen and Alora will take down the sentries, and then move in with bowfire, while Jaheira and Khalid move to the fore. I am not ready to take our other shape; we will keep that hidden for now.

Xan has veiled us from sight; it's time to move. Already, I feel Aihonen throb with anticipation. I hope it doesn't come to that.


	111. I buy your daughter for two cattle

1372? DR.

_Midnight_ –

They are Ghzermag the Wild, Clawkeeper Kzheemoc and Shoudul of the Skulls, chieftain, lorekeeper and shaman of the Stone Knives. We trespassed on their territory. The nearby city of Samargol encroaches on their ancestral lands, and patrols frequent their sacred sites without remorse. They have been driven back, weakened and resort to raiding. The other Batiri tribes will destroy them if this continues.

Jaheira neglected to mention that Batiri are cannibals. They intend to feast on their captives.

Alaundo's prophecy never mentioned this. I should be in Tethyr. That is where the confrontation is taking place. Perhaps this mishap can be turned to my advantage, though I doubt Chult will provide the allies I need.

We have begun negotiations.


	112. Five pigs two ox ten doves & a partridge

1372? DR.

_Dawn_ –

The Stone Knives have agreed to surrender Lastri Kassireh and the two other deckhands. In return, I will not attack them.

We did not speak of the Sahuagin.


	113. Pear tree, She didn't! Oh no she never!

"Were the negotiations so simple, my champion?"

"…The language was a barrier, but somehow Delainy made the shaman understand her. We appeared in front of them and they understood we could have killed them; they did not know if there were others veiled from sight either. I did not need to speak; Shoudul of the Skulls was afraid of Aihonen and the others sensed his awe. I'm not sure what Delainy told them."

"Shall I tell you, godchild?"

Silence.

"Very well. She warned them you were Murder taken mortal form. That you were angry. Ghzermag the Wild did not believe her, but Clawkeeper Kzheemoc did. Shoudul of the Skulls sensed Belhifet's taint on the wyrmslayer, and Clawkeepers study the stars. Kzheemoc knew of the Tablets of Fate's theft, and the fall of the gods. Through portents, he had seen another would rise up in Death."

"The prophecy?"

"An interpretation." The Solar paused, "Much points to your coming, godchild, and to the destruction your kin wrought. The Realms tremble in anticipation and the stars shake. You did not see yourself standing there. Many named as 'primitive' by the more developed species fail to see that which is clearest to those who dwell simply."

"You're saying I looked like – Sarevok? _Bhaal_?"

"There is a resemblance, my champion, though it runs deeper than the eye sees. You carry power within you you do not see."

"So, my 'heritage' once again proved that I am nothing without it."

"Nothing? My champion, as with _all_ mortals, it is your choices that define you."


	114. Samarach hasn't discovered soap yet

1372? DR.

Ambushed. Should have seen it coming. Minsc, Skie and Cythandria held. Returned to ship to find Samargol patrol lying in wait. We smelt them before they knew we were there. Edwina and Imoen ready to blast; stopped them. Captors or not, they will lead us to civilisation. Agreed to lay down our arms. Pack isn't pleased.

The gods' jest is great: _I_, vanquisher of Yxunomei, am accused of Yuan-ti sympathises. We are traitors, to be tried, and if found guilty executed.


	115. NOOOOOOOOOO!

Hammer 4, 1372 DR.

I am indebted to a Yuan-ti.


	116. I know your secret! This changes

Hammer 4, 1372 DR.

_Gateclose_ –

Our effects have been returned.

Sa'Sani, a merchant, is my benefactor and debtor. She does not know I smell what she is. I can taste it on the air, the foul yuan-ti stench. It is slight, but it is there. She masks it with enchantment and perfume, but I am more than man. The affliction lends me perception strong enough to see this. Such irony, that the one who would save me for her own purpose is one despised and feared by the city she stands in. They do not know, the xenophobic, paranoid citizens Samargol. They who accuse _me_…

I vowed never to leave breath enough for a yuan-ti to speak. I – owe – her – my – life.


	117. nothing, Apparently

Hammer 4, 1372 DR.

_Evenpeal_ –

She spoke with me alone. She wishes to employ me and my band. 'Foreigners, as you can see,' she said, 'are not tolerated.' Does she think me a fool? That I do not see she has plans she has not divulged to me? I feel the red haze; I see visions of Kuldahar, visions of the slave pits in Dragon's Eye… the sacrifices. She seems surprised to find us in these lands, and asked if we are from the north, how we got here. I have not answered her questions; it displeased her, but she did not voice threats. Disapproval carried in her look. She has already hired the pilot, she informed me, and the two deckhands. She knows of the storm, and will guess how we arrived. She will scry for residue, I am certain. She warns us Samargol does not tolerate the Art; she has tasks for us and will help return us to the Sword Coast, if we wish it.

She does not know the risk she takes; she speaks coolly, with confidence. A lady. She is not given to outbursts or passion; I see her cold blood, the lying mind behind those calm eyes. I hold her life, and owe her mine.

She is our only ally here. I await her treachery.


	118. I bet she did

Hammer 4, 1372 DR.

_Night_ –

Cythandria has… expressed her gratitude towards me. She thanked me outside my room. She was in a new robe of pale green silk, almost a nightdress and smelt of scented water and soap. I found her soft words unsettling. She walked away wearing a private smile I was not supposed to see.

Delainy stared coldly at me after I had closed the door. Sometimes I can smell the pack's moods. Hers was… jealous, and quiet anger. I remember how she looked when I took in Skie. This is different. She is like stone. Something happened; I'm not sure what.

Nothing I say would help, so I said nothing. Touching her only makes it worse. She turned her back on me. Imoen offers no answers or sympathy, and Alora is asleep. Skie is in the corner thinking. She does that sometimes; she misses her home and pack. Asking will only make things worse. Pack-mother Jaheira disapproves of this choice. There was something in Cythandria's parting look I don't like; it isn't warm, but sardonic. She…

Imoen has informed me of a snatch of conversation she overheard. 'Nas'Sirin', one of Sa'Sani's 'associates' is missing.


	119. Wagers, anyone?

Hammer 5, 1372 DR.

_Dawn_ –

Sa'Sani wishes us to inventory and salvage the ship. 'It is illegal,' she has warned, 'for others to claim cargo without ownership, but now you are under my employ.' – which explains why she bought up the pilot so quickly. Without the captain, the pilot takes responsibility. She will be disappointed. We have already taken what we could use and the Stone Knives will have picked the rest clean. Sa'Sani no doubt wants the sea charts and ledgers. I have yet to determine which cartel she works for, or her purpose as a merchant.

This is a fool's errand. Lastri Kassireh will accompany us; it will be good for Alora to have another Halfling to talk to, if she can get past our enslavement.


	120. Why not? I would!

Hammer 7, 1372 DR.

We have returned to Sa'Sani as predicted: with little. A couple of crates carried ore, still a valued commodity in the region, but here it is worth little. Iron is iron, and always useful. Saltwater got into one crate, but it is minimal. The rest of the 'cargo' was lost.

Sa'Sani isn't pleased, but does not blame us.


	121. If I'm her pawn, is she my queen?

Hammer 14, 1372 DR.

We have run many petty errands for our employer. She seems well respected, for a foreigner, in Samargol, and deals in contracts, promises and trade-bars. We act as her guard; she has bodyguards of her own, but we have proven ourselves and our worth. She is starting to trust me with higher tasks.

I have mentioned in passing we are archaeologists; she seemed mildly curious. I have locked that away for later; I know she will act on it when it pleases her. She never shows interest beyond politeness, and is always cool. If she were not a snake, I would admire her self-discipline. She carries herself without haughtiness, but it is there, slight, veiled. She considers herself a lady, a princess, though she never thinks on it. I watch her closely; her spies are everywhere. She stays informed.

Cythandria is everything Edwina is, only worse. She struts with an arrogance so ingrained she has forgotten it is there; she is aware of her own beauty, her long legs and chest. She is cold and distant, but her sleeve brushes mine, and she sniffs as if it were my fault. She walks past me too often to be coincidence, but not enough for me to complain. I am being toyed with. She flicks her hair as she turns her head, exposing her soft, white neck. Her walk… her hips strut more than all my pack-females combined.

Delainy hisses to herself and paces in our room, then turns away from me. I see her expression. There is… fear, and then anger. She won't speak to me.

Alora is angry with me. I've never seen her so cross, or for so long. She turns her back on me and sulks like a child. Then she talks to Skie as if there's nothing wrong and wears her happy smile. She won't smile at me. Is she angry at having to work with Kassireh or angry because of Delainy?

Edwina and Xan continue to study in secret. The house Sa'Sani owns is warded, and though it is unusual for hired swords to share their employer's house, the impression she gives to Samargol is one of servants to a mistress; that we are armed is inconsequential.

Her chambers is out of bounds; all understand this instinctively. Even Imoen, Alora and Skie give it wide berth; her office is set in front of her suite. It is lavishly panelled in wood, but simply decorated. She summons the captain of her guard there often, and Kassireh on occasion. She has called me there only once; for the rest, she meets with me in the hall. It is her who issues instructions, not servants passing on her wishes. I report directly to her. Her major domo dislikes me; I can feel it. He is another serpent; he obeys her with small argument, but obeys.

After she has given her instruction, he outlines in greater depth what we are to do; the etiquette and niceties. He is petty, bureaucratically-minded excuse of a 'man', who fusses. Beneath the surface, he is cold and ruthless. I see hints of it, hear hints of it; the fussiness is a mask. Every detail is carefully explored, but only so it may be exploited. The snakes wish to see outcomes long before they happen. They are cunning. I was wise not to tip my hand.

I wonder if she knows what I am, if she only pretends she does not. She shows no awareness of it, but she is yuan-ti. She is planning something… something big; I am still her pawn, for now.


	122. Paranoia sets in

Hammer 20, 1372 DR.

Sa'Sani pretends to care about riches and wealth. It is a means to an end, but the truer means is knowledge. Her merchants are spies. She uses us to protect her caravans; we are not her assassins… yet. There has been an incident involving a yuan-ti; 'Luaire', one of her subordinates, was sent to deliver a message to her associates back in the Sword Coast. This is troubling in itself. How far have the serpents reached? She has sent us to a hidden Lantanese Lumber Camp, illegal by Samargol law. It is operated by gnomes, one of whom was recently murdered.

Luaire is a traitor. We tracked him to a cave. 'Chokemist', a poisonous fungi grew there; it didn't after Edwina's fireball torched all inside. We carried Luaire's charred corpse back to the city for Sa'Sani to question. Those with me were not pleased, nor was the rest of the pack upon our return. Sa'Sani showed no distaste, but confirmed what I suspected: she has access to the Art. Whether it was she herself who called on Luaire's spirit, or whether it was another, I do not know. Shortly after questioning him, Samargol's guards burst into the compound and tried to arrest Sa'Sani for being in league with yuan-ti. It confirmed what I suspected: there are spies everywhere.


	123. She's a freaking snake! Course she is!

"An interesting path."

He didn't answer.

"After you quit the city with her, did you ask yourself why you had not turned her in? Was it honour, my champion, a sense of duty and debt?"

"Why are you asking me this?"

"Did she change your perceptions, despite your vow?"

"Why does that matter?"

"Perhaps there was something about her that reminded you of someone. Of yourself, perhaps?"

He clamped his mouth shut.

"So she was different."


	124. So much for not letting a yuan ti talk

Hammer 30, 1372 DR.

We are back in the Sword Coast. We escorted Sa'Sani to the Lantanese Lumber Camp; they had a portal web. Cythandria attached herself to us, and we are free of Samargol. Sa'Sani, in her own way, is strangely grateful. Her gratitude extends far enough to name me a lieutenant of her guard, and offer me a place in her cartel – her associate, a junior partner. There is more to this than simple reward; her position here is weak, and she stands on the verge of establishing or losing a foothold that could corner the market, just like the Iron Throne did before the 'Gate fell.

The Sword Coast has been devastated. In the past three years, Neverwinter has suffered plague and war, both with Luskan and with a host of undead. Luskan itself, according to Sa'Sani, has suffered losses, including two of its High Captains, and a traitor in the Hosttower. I had been unaware of this, but it explains much, such as why Neverwinter never came to the Ten Towns' aid when Belhifet and Yxunomei were massing their forces.

She has made me privy to some of her plan. She has enough backing to buy up the markets that have yet to recover, and with the wealth from Samarach she has built up, there is enough to inject and rejuvenate many of the diminished industries. I have learnt a little of the theory of economics, but even I can see that this is an opportunity that may never come again in a hundred lifetimes. This will alter the fate of the Sword Coast for decades, if not centuries to come. But it needs enforcing. Sa'Sani needs time to gain her contract's trust. She needs someone to guard the routes, and flush out bandits while more guards are hired. Someone from outside the region who won't turn on her.

Why then, should she ask me? Are her own resources stretched so thin she cannot afford rank and file from her own kin? Or perhaps yuan-ti society is more complicated and shifting than I ever thought or suspected. Luaire was a traitor, but he was one of hers. Who then is she? And if not for wealth, then what? There is something greater going on here.

I now find myself facing a choice: do I head south to Tethyr and finish this once and for all, or do I remain in the north, solidify my position and move south when I have amassed an army. I have one ally… for now, and I find myself strangely in need of her support, and she of mine. It makes for an odd alliance. She is perceptive enough to realise coin is not my motive; it has given her pause.


	125. And that, godchild is Inadequacy at work

Hammer 30, 1372 DR.

_Almost Midnight_ –

Since I retired for the night, I have been lying awake thinking… There is something else. With this, I have been offered a chance at what Sarevok had. A chance to build a mercantile empire. Will I fail as my 'brother' did? Or will I prove myself different?

I find myself drawn to this. If my sire's spawn wish to battle amongst themselves, why not let them? If I am to die, I wish to foil whatever it is the yuan-ti are involved with first. After that…

My sire can wait a little longer for my head. For now, my life is my own.


	126. She's still a freaking snake!

"And so it was."

"For a few months, yes." He admitted. "The dreams… they never let up, but I felt a sense of freedom. I kept my back turned, and it infuriated him."

"I know," she smiled.

"Cythandria continued her games, but though I showed no interest, it didn't stop her. If anything, it drove her."

"And caused much heartache between you and your pack."

"Yes…" He refused to speak of Delainy.

"Tell me of Sa'Sani."

"She did what she set out to. She drew me closer into her confidence, and I…"

Patiently, she watched him.

"…Responded. I offered her strategies, cleared out the roads near Crossroads Keep, our base of operations. I hunted with the pack, and turned many to our cause. Those that did not, I offered the choice of exile or death."

"And so, you became like your brother, Sarevok."

He turned away.

"You admired her."

"She… was amazing. Self-assured even when assassins came for her. Even when her own kind, her missing 'associates', came for her…"

"And yet she was a yuan-ti, a monster in your eyes."


	127. We have been busy, haven't we?

Flamerule 5, 1372 DR.

It has been two months since I took possession of the cartel. I began the day we after arrived, when I decided to accept Sa'Sani's offer. Crossroads Keep is a fief of Neverwinter, under Nasher Alagondar, Lord of Neverwinter. It was under 'Khelgar Ironfist's' jurisdiction, for a time. Like Sarevok, I have purchased a position within the nobility, but I have done it with deeds, not gold. As 'squire' to an aged knight, I will 'inherit' his sponsorship. I could have found a destitute baron and married into his family; instead, I attracted the attention of a man of virtue, a knight who would relive the glory days and hear tales of heroism; to be part of them in some small way.

There are many, many trade-bars bearing our seal, Sa'Sani's stamp. I have added to it: an Amaryllis. Sa'Sani did not question this, but it puzzled her. It has become my sigil; when I win my coat of arms, it will be placed upon my shield. My banners already bear the white and pink upon a field of night shadow's blue.

Delainy has said nothing of this, but her smile upon first seeing it was like the rising sun. Cythandria said nothing, but her eyes were tight. She locked herself in the library for the next three days, but was coldly haughty when she emerged. Her smiles were chillier after that, and brushes from her sleeve less.

It takes years for a squire to earn the position of knight. Since the war with Luskan, Neverwinter has been forced to relax its rules. Having bested several younger knights and two older ones, I am being nominated to stand. There are several trials I must take. In preparation, I bathed Aihonen in a crucible of holy water; there was hissing and a cloud of steam fogged the air. When it cleared, the water was gone, but Aihonen was brilliant silver, almost as brilliant as the blade Havarian left behind.

I have set my spies searching for him. He was last seen in Amn. He is beyond my reach for now, but he will not remain so forever. I have not forgotten.

The vaults are full, but it is not enough. Industry is slowly being restored, and the land is being cleared of bandits, and monsters. In recognition of this, I have been granted a dispensation – I can recruit more guardsman than a squire is ordinarily permitted. Technically, the cartel owns their services, not I as an individual, yet they are loyal to me. With this wealth at my command, I have been able to create the appearance of nobility; it is what others expect.

To be accepted, one must belong; become. Sarevok and Delainy both taught me this lesson. Skie has adapted very well to this, and both she and Cythandria have been invaluable; surprisingly, Jaheira's comments are astute and always apt. Others are less used to such luxury; the cartel house is an ill-fitting glove for those who grew up in simpler surroundings. I ordered gardens to be constructed, and Amaryllis brought in. Paving stones, trellises, orchards, and wild flowers, fountains and a pond. A roof garden with boxes. Columns and walkways, circle slabs and sundials. Delainy favours the simplest of all; the mound I had erected, a hillock overlooking the rest, where a tree's boughs overhang, and belladonna of both Atropa and Amaryllis grow free. The gardeners are forbidden from walking there.

The library is more than I ever could have dreamed of. It is a miniature Candlekeep, with as many tomes as we can lay our hands on housed there. We copy them, and return the original, and add the copy to our shelves. There are more tomes than there are trade-bars; to date, there are seventeen rooms lined floor to ceiling with shelves. The alchemy lab is fitted with the finest tools. Xan, Edwina, and Cythandria are never seen outside the grounds, and rarely leave the library. Imoen and Delainy are receiving a fine education; their knowledge rivals and even exceeds mine on some subjects now. Little Alora has become fascinated with books; she liked stories, but Imoen has infected her natural curiosity by pointing out that books hold stories, and now Alora never so much as looks up at a locked chest. How long this will last remains to be seen.

The wardrobes, of course, have to match. Skie, Edwina and Cythandria gave a good attempt at emptying the vault, but only dented it. Imoen and Alora helped, but our treasury remains full. Our success, in part, is due to cooperation with the other cartels. We have set up a merchant's league, much like the one in Baldur's Gate before its fall, and we import and export to near and distant cities as well as selling and buying locally. Sa'Sani set most of it up, and we have found ourselves a niche. We specialise in a variety of areas, including finding rare and occasionally illicit objects and selling them to collectors. Our most successful area has been in the field of money-lending. Loans at low interest, in exchange for property deeds, rented back until the loan is repaid, have resulted in a host of industries. The market has boomed. We also buy and sell land, be it developed, arable, timber, or other. We have begun dabbling in mining, as well as shipping, which is remarkable given how we only began expanding six months ago.

The wars hit all classes hard, but the hardest hit were the lowest. Some merchants prospered, but many were ruined. We recruited from both these fields, offering contracts and employment across as many towns as we could reach. We came close to overextending ourselves, and had we not had backing from Sa'Sani's former operation, we would have gone under. Being able to enforce our routes helped greatly, but it was Sa'Sani that truly brought this revival. Without her plan, none of this would have happened.

As trainer-at-arms, Khalid is invaluable and he drills all our recruits unerringly. Minsc leads regular patrols and heads security officially; in practice, it is Khalid that works out the details. Minsc is the figurehead and chief bodyguard. Lastri Kassireh is a sergeant, pilot-admiral of the fleet and mentor to Alora. We have our own barracks and own three stables. Whether Nasher knows it or not, we are training knights of our own. Edwina is almost ready to open an academy, which will, in her words, 'rival Thay'; she then contradicted herself and muttered about how such a barbaric and cold land could never match the might of Thay.

Despite all this, I am discontent. It has been two tendays since Sa'Sani's disappearance, and Nas'Sirin murder. I know it was her, and I know Nas'Sirin was plotting against her. Had she asked, I would have killed him myself. She took the portal. I know she returned to Samarach, and I fear I know why.

I should have gone after her.


	128. The power! The power is mine! At last!

Flamerule 8, 1372 DR.

Sa'Sani's spies, now under my command, at least, those within the cartel, have confirmed my fear. Three months ago, the order went out to locate, detain and investigate individuals who had connections to Sa'Sani's 'missing associates'. With Nas'Sirin dead and Sa'Sani gone, we have found them. Kizu and Il'foss are their names, yuan-ti both, and they had an interesting story to share.

They spoke of a princess of the Sauringar, dedicated to the serpent god Sseth. She worked tirelessly to bring her fragmented people to dominance, but she was betrayed by those she considered loyal. They turned to the god Zehir, a new, more powerful deity, who preferred more direct methods. Her scheme was centuries in the making, but many grew impatient. Zehir promised rich rewards for those who did his bidding and the blood of their foes.

They claim she will be sacrificed, and with her death, the old order will be gone; the old ways will die with them. I do not need the Heartstone gem to know who they speak of. Initiation into knighthood will have to wait. 'Father's' wars also.


	129. You can't prove anything!

"So you gathered the pack and went off to rescue the princess, my champion?"

"Having told me her name, Zehir struck them down."

"Confirming what you knew."

"Foe or not, she was mine to slay, mine to spare. Zehir had no claim on her."

"And you wonder why I call you 'my champion'?" The Solar's smile was as fond as it was radiant.


	130. Still hate Yuan Ti!

"I found her alone, in one of their temples. The portal took me straight there. She looked at me, as if amazed. Surprise so small it barely registered on her features appeared; months before, I might have missed it. 'You came,' her voice was calm, as always.

"A dozen things flashed through my mind at once. 'Zehir's a threat to us both'; 'We're partners'; 'Your life is mine, yuan-ti'; these and more. Instead, I said nothing."

The Solar listened.

"She seemed to consider my silence, and simply accepted I was there, for her. She knew I hated her kind; I don't know how she found out. Perhaps it was my… handiwork in the Dragon's Eye; one of her spies, perhaps."

"Her eyes saw that far?"

"I don't know. But it would not surprise me. It would explain many things, but why then would she intercede?"

"Perhaps she saw something different in you."

"And perhaps she did not."

"You went alone?"

"I set the portal to take my pack outside."

"But you sought her out."

"She deserved no less. After everything… she earned that much."

"As bait to a trap, suspecting this, you still went."

"Another reason I put the pack outside."

"What did she say, my champion?" For some reason, it was important to her; her gentle tone somehow more intense.

"Nothing… she said… nothing." Slowly, he shook his head, "we stood in silence, watching one another. Finally, I drew Aihonen. She seemed to accept it. She lifted her head with quiet dignity, prepared for it. There were no words; there wasn't a need. Her eyes were proud, defiant, and resigned."

"Were you prepared?"

"To kill her? That wasn't why I was there."


	131. The Wolf and the Snake, Sounds Romantic

"_Stand with me," he said, stopping in front of her, "take your place at my side, Chosen of Sseth."_

"_You came to stand against Zehir?" Mild surprise coloured her, and finally she nodded, "I will stand with you, godseed."_

_He didn't ask how she knew. They were meant to fight, to kill each other. From outside the walls, yuan-ti slithered in, abominations, snakes with a human torso. Four arms, each with swords. Reminiscent of mariliths, pale shadows of Yxunomei._

_Aihonen glistened, hungry._


	132. Except for y'know, that other thing

"Zehir's 'herald' greeted us with an entourage that outnumbered us three to one. The herald itself stood taller than a Frost Giant, the trunk of its torso broader than most trees. Eight arms wielded axes, spears, swords and a spiked mace. Icharyd was nothing against this demon…

"We shed our man-shapes before entering the pit. Skie was left behind for a reason. Cythandria registered surprise but recovered quickly. Minsc held a sword longer than most men, his limbs, chest and head clad in plate. Xan had been enchanting our armours to change with us; no longer did our clothes rip, nor did we return like newborns, in our skin. In a particularly savage twist, Edwina added spikes to the pauldrons, and blades to the bracers. They followed the natural curve of the arm, seamlessly folding in. She added punch daggers to Minsc's gauntlets, the pads of fingers left uncapped for claws. All these she enchanted with life leeching magic.

"It was… a sight."

"You had come far since you began your journey."

"Khalid kept his helm and kite shield, his only adjustment to the classic broadsword, a buckler to guard his right. He was the same on the practice field, controlled, steady. From the first day I met him… he never faltered, not in his swordsmanship. He was anxious whenever he faced more powerful beings than himself, but he steeled his resolve. From Nashkel to Chult, he was reliable.

"Furless or furred, Jaheira was both a wildcat and a paragon of self-possession. We all played a part; hers had always been direction, an intermediate between the casters and those at the van. Imoen and Alora filled the role of skirmishers, striking at the flanks, hamstringing and darting in, but Jaheira held the centre.

"The largest of the yuan-ti were thrice our height. It dwarfed the other yuan-ti."

He fell silent, lost to memory.

She watched, waiting, encompassing him in her light still, always.

"The mages began casting. We entered the fray."

His words were distant, reaching across time.

"Beside me, Sa'Sani chanted. She stood as yuan-ti, her true guise revealed. A slender woman clad in elegant scales. Greenish-white, the colours of granite and jade. She was… handsome. Regal. A princess in red silks." Slowly, he shook his head, "Her eyes were the same. Pale, lidded, collected, poised. A serpent, a… woman. Distinctly feminine, and yet so alien.

"I moved towards our foe, Aihonen shimmering in my hand. I faced the herald as a man, the creature of a god against the child of another. I was not afraid. I felt… singing through my head, my sire's essence gleeful for the slaughter that awaited, my body ready for battle. I trained for years, hour after hour spent in the practice yard, sparring, in the hunt. Everything came together for this one moment, where life and death was decided. The warrior's joy; what we lived for. The test where steel fails, where chance and speed determines everything. Where skill meets fickle fate, and the gods look on as victory is decided.

"The greatest of feelings."

"Did you believe what you felt, godchild?"

"…We all felt it; fear, anxiety, anticipation, bloodlust. The rush as we lost ourselves to battle. Instinct takes over, detachment sets in…"

"But did _you_ believe it?"

"…No." His gaze clouded, "There is a moment that exceeds this, the perversion, where control is yours, and your victim's life passes through your hands, helpless. They look into your eyes, and you take. Their last breath is… private, watching as they fade, the act of intimacy between victim and killer."

"Murder."

"Murder," he agreed softly. Her look was disapproving. A shudder ran through him, and it was not because of her. "It is what the dreams promise, a delight more personal than the gentlest caress. A… twisted love."

"Do you believe it?"

"The darkness lies."

His expression hardened.

"I reject it."

"And that, godchild, is why you are my champion."


	133. Chult runs red with blood, or green, or

_He found himself forced back, caught on the back foot. Two hands swung a sword, two more jabbed a spear. The fifth and sixth arced scimitars at his throat, and the first and second waited with twin axes. The herald's grotesque face, part human, part python leered from its hood. Crowning it, a headdress of gold, stylised blades, like a sun, glinted with jewels. The myriad of colours teased his eye, drawing it, enticing._

_Aihonen glimmered blue in defiance, low flames dancing beneath the surface. It turned aside the falchion, spinning to slash its inside arm. Belhifet's residue burned as much as the holy water fused into Aihonen's edge. The herald recoiled each time Aihonen bit into it, its black blood corroding the paving stones it touched. Crimson enveloped the blade, siphoning the monster's strength, feeding the growing hunger within._

_Sa'Sani paralysed its servants, freezing some in stone and blinding others. Abominations raised their clawed hands, covering their ruined, empty eye-sockets. Spinning blades danced up where they stood, carving through their insides; a wall of blades hemming back those it did not slice. Fire danced from her hand, detonating in bursts, then scorching the air in their throats. Her foes knew fear._

_Stygian ice and shadows tore at those Edwina marked; a kaleidoscope of fire, acid and black followed. Deadly green rays shot from her fingers, crumpling any it struck, no matter how tall. Xan chanted, his wards broken with each swing of the herald's axe; again and again, he protected his pack's leader._

_Lightning fell in waves, blinding the battlefield in sheets. The clouds had gathered, and now the priests and Jaheira battled for dominance of the skies. Spiked roots coiled around the serpent-men, digging into their scales with cruel talons. Nature's fury manifested through the druid; she stood arms wide as she shouted._

_Shadows enveloped the pit, a cloud Imoen and Alora darted through. Their blades pierced scale, as they ducked and dived, bobbed and weaved, dodging the blades thrust blindly at them. Khalid faced three warriors; barely able to hold his ground, he thrust once for four parries. Minsc hurled himself into the breast of an abomination, a four-armed snake twice his size. His sword cleaved._

_Yuan-ti arrows bounced harmlessly off the mages' protective barriers. Cythandria responded with arrows of her own; ice, lightning and fire danced amongst the archers' ranks, more a distraction than a serious response. Calling across the Realms, she summoned two ogres to her; sheathed in armour and armed with spikes, they were her servants, her pets. As they charged into the fray, she began opening a gate to the lower planes._

_Chaos reigned._


	134. I don't think it's meant to work that wa

"How did it end?" The Solar asked gently.

"Minsc…" He shook himself, "We held back the servants long enough… the first line, Imoen and Alora helped relieve Khalid, then ran amongst their casters, throwing potions at their feet. These… were volatile, from the alchemy lab, based off those at Ulcaster. They disrupted the priests' concentration, and Jaheira turned the storm on them."

"But how did it end, godchild?"

He drew in a deep breath.

"My champion?" She waited a few moments.

"I… was wounded. It took Xan all he had to shield me from the Herald. Even with my sire's powers, I was… if I had listened to the raven, my powers would have manifested more strongly, I could have trained them. In resisting…"

"You saved your soul."

"I was weaker. Sa'Sani kept the yuan-ti from our mage line, and Cythandria summoned infernals from the hells, succubi, vrock, any who would come. Even a marilith answered her call. An… open gate to the prime…" He shivered, "there are few fiends that could resist such an invitation."

The Solar said nothing.

"They threw themselves at the yuan-ti; Xan made us invisible to them, a trick he learned after we defeated Belhifet." He sighed, "Khalid… he was badly wounded. When the last abomination fell, Minsc threw himself at the Herald. I… was almost used up. The axe struck, shattering the wards; it kept coming, and bit into me. I began to bleed out. Minsc roared furiously, his sword flashing as he hacked without regard for himself. I remember lying on the ground, staring up at the Herald. The monster was unmoved at first, but the ferocity of Minsc's attack grew. Then a flash, like a sun-flare; Xan held a crystal, it caught the light and…"

He shook his head.

"The portal lens," The Solar prompted gently, "the gate Cythandria called manipulated the altar's. Zehir's servants had already built a portal at their god's command, which is where the herald stepped through."

"Then…?"

"You do not remember?"

Another headshake.

"Xan drew the herald towards the gate using the lens as a focus for his spell."


	135. Owie! Mythril failed me!

_The herald slid, its snake's body pulled across the flagstones. A frenzied, panicked look lit its eyes; it flailed wildly. Minsc closed in, sword raised. Two arrows, one from Imoen, one from Alora, struck it above the breastplate, piercing one unarmoured armpit. Abandoning all skill, the herald attacked without target, thrashing in all directions. Minsc struck off its hand; Sa'Sani's fire blinded it, burning away its eyes. Blackened by lightning, Edwina took down the last of the herald's wards. Jaheira wreaked vengeance on the last of the priests, cracking the altar._

_The herald bellowed in pain. Its spear thrust down, Aihonen too slow to deflect it. To him, there was silence. The noise had stopped. From the corner of his eye, he caught Alora's widening mouth, and a paling Imoen. Xan's chanting increased. The herald was sucked into the portal, body first._

_A scimitar slashed, catching Minsc below his raised arms. The mighty warrior glanced down, his breastplate shattered._

_Cythandria collapsed the portal._

_Darkness._


	136. Huh? What you doing here?

He looked up at her, then frowned.


	137. I'm in hell

_The nymph's tear sparkled, the blue crystal glistening in his eye. Slowly, he looked up. She was there, the light from his dreams._

_She smiled, "Godchild."_


	138. No really

"And so you are here, my champion."

"Then I am dead…"

"If this is death," she looked around, looking at the shifting walls, patterned black in spirals. Green cloud roamed it above it.

"You…" His frown returned, "said I had slain dragons, spared a demon?"

"You do not remember?" She pressed, somehow closer, larger. She hadn't moved. "You arrived here. The dragon, Icasaracht. You fought his shade."

"And the demon?"

She smiled, then looked past him. Following her gaze, he turned. An imp smiled nervously and flapped its wings.

"Cespenar," the Solar intoned mildly, "Bhaal's butler."

"Bhaal had a… butler?"

"Oh yes, Cespenar serve the great one!"

"He speaks…"

"Yes, though he has been alone for fourteen years."

"Cespenar happy to serve the master again!"

"I am not Bhaal."

The little imp, no higher than his thigh, looked confused, then shrugged, "Cespenar clean?" The creature nodded towards his scabbard.

"Not now," The Solar told the imp firmly.

"Oh well, back to cleaning." The imp hopped away, humming to itself. A mop and bucket appeared in its hands.

He stared after it.

She waited for him.

"This… was the demon I refused to slay?"

"Is that so surprising, godchild?"

"I guess I must be dead…" After a moment, he sighed, "What is this place? What are you doing here?"

"Your father's realm, a piece of it. I have been waiting for you."

"The herald?"

Her pupilless eyes, white stars, set against skin of luminous blue, her head wreathed with orange-golden fire. The gentleness faded, amplifying the seriousness in her unobtrusive, regal serenity.

His eyes widened slightly. Behind the translucent glow of wings, he spied a pommel.

"I am not here to hurt you, godchild."

There was no emphasis on 'you', but all the same, he nodded shakily. She smiled.

"If I'm not dead… why am I here? _How_ am I here?"

"You have a choice, godchild." She seemed to consider for a moment, "After the portal collapsed, you were drawn in. You brought yourself here."

"The marilith, the vrock, the–" He realised who he was talking to.

"It was a foolish thing to do," The Solar continued as if he had not interrupted, "opening a gateway to the hells. The abyssal realms hold many dangers, especially for you." She paused, "This place is of the same substance as your sire's throne. This is the choice before you: you may return to the mortal realm, or you may wait here."

"Wait?"

"For the last of your kin."

He stared.

"You will call them to battle. The field will be your sire's throne."

"I'm not dead?"

"You do not need me to return."

"If I stay… Tethyr, the Sword Coast… Sa'Sani… Saradush…"

She met his eyes and he understood. He had made his decision.

"Then awake, godchild, and face your destiny."

His eyes opened.


	139. Boo!

Alturiak 1, 1372 DR.

Minsc… has fallen. The herald's blade… I… Minsc…


	140. By which I mean words! Not the 'feeling'

Alturiak 1, 1372 DR.

Edwina is grief-stricken. Boo mourns, his tiny rodent eyes more expressive than words. He comforts the Thayan. Her wails are heartbreaking. Alora is in tears. Imoen too.

I don't think they expected to see me again.

Xan is grievously wounded, but he will live. Cythandria too; she is badly burned. We have all suffered injuries, but we are healing. Jaheira is tending to Cythandria, who seems more disturbed she may suffer scarring.

I have met with Sa'Sani. She had withdrawn to the antechamber. After her initial surprise, and… joy? She seems perturbed and resigned. After the herald's fall, she claims Zehir appeared in voice; the pack will confirm this, but I have no reason to doubt it. This god, an interloper, has warned that this is not the end; there are many, many others who serve him.

How I know he is an interloper, I cannot say. Something in the way the Solar spoke…

It is time we exchanged words.


	141. Lots of words

"'_What happens now?'" He voiced her thoughts, casting his gaze over the broken courtyard. Then he looked back at her. Unblinking, she returned it, studying him. "You must have asked yourself that."_

"_And if you will kill me," She allowed, dipping her head with a tiredness that went beyond years and bones. Despite this, she still maintained her regal poise, her cool, self-possession present even now. It was his thought she spoke._

"_We both know I won't."_

"_Do we?" She challenged, leaning forwards so slightly it was barely evident. She drew herself up, "If we find ourselves, years from now, on opposite sides, will you regret this day? I will not stop."_

"_Nor will I." He met her gaze evenly, then lowered his tone, "You will aid me, as I have aided you."_

"_Will I, godseed?"_

"_Zehir is a danger to all the Realms."_

"_As are you."_

"_Consider the alternative."_

_She hesitated, freezing mere heartbeats. The shift was slight as she chose to listen._

"_There are still my kin." He went on, "One of us will take Bhaal's throne."_

"_You have… changed since we first met. You have… grown."_

"_Stand with me, Sa'Sani, chosen of Sseth."_

"_You slew many renegades, defiled our holy places. You murdered our young. It is unforgivable. Sseth demands blood."_

"_It was not Sseth's temple."_

"_You cannot be trusted."_

"_Trust? Let me tell you of 'trust'. You have done nothing but manipulate and lie to me since the day we met. Who sent that storm, Sa'Sani? The Sahuagin? How did the ship end up so far from the Sword Coast?"_

"_You speak to me of lies, godseed?"_

_He faced her evenly. Quietly and without fear, his words hit their mark; she recoiled. His hand never neared Aihonen. "You do not have to die here. I have no wish to kill you, nor you me."_

_Her hiss was low, almost inaudible._

"_Then tell me why you haven't cast your spells already?"_

_She lowered her eyes half a degree._

_He waited._

"_It cannot be any other way."_

"_Our goals are not so differently," he prompted her gently, as the Solar had him, "we are not foes."_

"_Sseth demands we take dominion of this world." Her lidded eyes blinked, then locked on him, "We cannot be anything but foes."_

"_A yuan-ti would try to manipulate me, trick me into believing we were allies, and wait for a time to lure me to my death."_

_She didn't answer._

"_Are you so resigned to death?"_

"_I have expended my spells, godseed."_

"_I do not believe you. Why have you not slithered off and hidden yourself in a hole?"_

"_I do not slither!" Anger flashed, then she calmed as if she had never hissed, "I am disgraced, I have lost the support of my clan. House Se'Sehen has fallen. N'Safa is dead, but he was aided by traitors within my clan."_

"_N'Safa?"_

"_Zehir's priest." She hesitated a second time, a thing that did not come naturally to her. "Why do you stay your hand? I betrayed you."_

"_I stayed my hand since Samargol."_

_She nodded slowly, as if this confirmation changed nothing. A little later, she disturbed their silence, "Then you wish… a pact?"_

"_Partners. Allies. Peace between us."_

_She glowered balefully at him._

"_Sseth is weak."_

_A guarded hiss._

_He waited._

_Finally, she allowed, "Sseth… sleeps."_

_He looked over her searching._

_For several moments, she endured it. Eventually, she allowed, "He is distressed…"_

"_But that is not the reason for your reluctance. You are scared. Afraid of what will happen if I let you live. Afraid of what it will mean when your debt conflicts with your loyalties."_

"_My clan have marked me for death. My failure…"_

"_I will strike down any who threaten you, Sa'Sani. Your foes will become my foes."_

"_You… mean this." Slowly, she shook her head, "You are not yuan-ti…"_

"_That can be remedied."_

_The slits of her eyes widened._

"_I was there, in your temple. I saw what your kind did to humans."_

"_You do not understand…"_

"_You turned them into monsters, snakes in your image."_

"_They are slaves, tainted ones."_

"_I will not kill you."_

"_Will you release me?"_

"_No."_

_She sighed._


	142. Not that I wasn't anyway

Alturiak 5, 1372 DR.

We are fugitives in Baldur's Gate, wanted on the crime of 'looting'. We were on our way to be sentenced when the Sahuagin struck. My extradition from Neverwinter to Amn is now impossible, as I am a squire, and therefore, exempt from the rule governing those without privilege, but I cannot return there. I am an exile from my own homeland.

I am arranging a means of compensation, in return for having the charges lifted. Since Sa'Sani's disappearance, control of the entire cartel has ceded to me.


	143. And I'd do it again!

"_You left me behind." Delainy turned aside._

"_I needed you to watch Skie." He began, then sighed. The hurt in her soft brown eyes tore at him. Finally, he admitted, "I couldn't risk you."_

"_We are pack," she answered simply, and he knew he had betrayed her._

"_I'm sorry…"_

_She twisted away._


	144. Who isn't? Minsc!

Alturiak 5, 1372 DR.

Skie is overjoyed to see us, and terribly sad to hear of Minsc. Using the vast resources that are now available, I've begun searching for a priest capable of returning our fallen. I fear it has been too long. Gorion will not return, nor will Garrick. Perhaps Minsc will, but by the time we locate such a priest…

In our absence, business has continued as normal. It more or less runs itself, for now. The preparations I began months ago are far from complete, but I have decided that we will be in Tethyr by Ches, no matter our readiness. Marching a force through sovereign lands will be… difficult. To that end, I have commissioned a small fleet of ships. We will sail down the coast, beyond Athkatla, and disembark and march through Tethyr. The royal army is already occupied with my kin's wars; I will attach Neverwinter's banner to the ships, set under mine, and send a letter ahead, in answer to Tethyr's call for aid.


	145. You're still a pest, no matter what

"_You really intend to do this?"_

_I nodded._

"_Well, I guess we're headed out to sea."_

"_Thanks Imoen."_

"_Ya think I'd let ya down? Never let a friend down 'swhat I always say, no siree." She smiled, "Yer all buffleheaded."_

"_Imoen…"_

"_Yeah?"_

"_I want you to know, no matter what happens…"_

"_You okay? Yer talkin' crazy."_

_He smiled; reaching over, she stood on tiptoes to ruffle his hair._


	146. To stop evil, wars, and see the sights

"_Why do you have to go?" Delainy demanded, hands on her hips. They were in the library, overlooking the gardens. She affected a simple dress of white embroidered with yellow flowers. She wore a single Amaryllis in her hair, and a braid with smaller wild flowers, "You–"_

_He had told her of the dreams._

"_You trust this…" Her lip trembled and she turned away, too in awe to offend the Solar, too upset not to._

"_I won't leave you again."_

_She strode from the room._


	147. That and the whole CE thing

"_Tell me, Cythandria, who exactly are you?"_

"_My lord?" Her sleeve had brushed his hand, its style long, draping._

"_On the ship, you whispered in my mind."_

_She smiled coyly, "You remember? I wasn't sure…"_

"_Answer me," he took her hand gently from his wrist. As he returned it to her lap, her thumb caressed his finger. His stare turned hard. She lowered her eyes demurely._

"_You fascinate me."_

"_My power fascinates you."_

_A touch of scorn entered her tone, "At least I see it, unlike that girl who tugs at your tunic's hem."_

"_This isn't about Delainy."_

"_You could do better," Knowing she said the wrong thing, her eyes flashed, "she is a child, unappreciative of your greatness."_

"_And you are?" _

_She drew herself up, "You are not weak, you have strength, but you refuse to use it. You could be so much more. Why do you hold back? You could have any woman you wanted; dozens, even hundreds could be yours. Are you blind? You turn heads where you walk. I could serve you, befitting a man of your abilities. You wish to advance in the aristocracy, I can help you. Take me as your concubine; let me help you marry into power. Show me off to the court; men will whisper when they know you are my master. Let me please you… anything, and it is yours."_

"_You have spoken such words before. I can hear it in your voice."_

"_My last master was weak, he was–" She sucked in a breath, then purred, "nothing like you, my lord. He… lacked the perception you possess."_

"_Who was he?"_

_She lowered her eyes._

"_Tell me his name."_

_She trembled._

"_Answer me!" He barked._

"_S-Sarevok!" She stammered, eyes wide as she stepped back, shudders wracking from shoulder to knee._

"_My brother." His eyes flashed, "You knew."_

_She stepped backwards, then fell to her knees, her green silk pooling prettily around her ankles and revealing soft, white flesh._

"_All this time, you knew."_

"_Mercy," she begged, prostrating herself at his feet, her hands gripping his black-booted foot._

"_The ship… when did you learn? Were you responsible for the ambush?"_

"_N-no my lord–"_

"_Don't lie to me!"_

"_Yes! It was you; I thought it was _him_, returned. My wards, I warded his room; he abandoned me, cast me aside, I was nothing, worthless to him – and when you… I saw… I looked inside your mind… you – you were different. You are brothers, but you were not–" She swallowed, somehow managing to appear graceful even now._

"_He would have shown you no mercy. He would have thought it weakness."_

_Her eyes widened, "Y-yes… how did you know?"_

_A mirthless smile twisted at his lips. She stared and then her eyes began to brim. Gently, he pulled his foot free and walked away. She stared after him. The mirror on the door showed hatred, wonder, and remorse. Bitterness marred her beauty._


	148. The world is really, really doomed

Alturiak 9, 1372 DR.

My petition for Nasher's permission to led an expedition to Tethyr has been granted. I received his blessing and he has dispatched an 'advisor' to oversee the relief force. With my lawful liege's blessing, I can contact the royal court of Tethyr. It will foster good relations, and a representative of my cartel with journey with us, in the hopes of setting up a trade post in the south. As the expedition is funded from my purse, no expense is incurred on the crown.

Nasher has decided that it will not do for a squire to lead such a force in Neverwinter's name. I am to be knighted. This has caused a stir, and the scandal over Sa'Sani's 'associates' has not gone away. The court loves to gossip, but intrigue is their wine. More grizzled veterans are sceptical, while others grumble and disapprove. Some nobles join them; others, especially the ladies, see it as a good thing, a heroic ballad in the making. Many younger courtiers express jealousy and excitement, some in equal measure. Several have signed up and enlisted their own entourage. The city can scarce afford to be stripped of her soldiers, so Nasher has limited the number to three ships. A few paladins are along for the ride, though there is little space for horses onboard. Nasher's restriction has forced many to believe this enterprise is doomed to failure. Surprisingly, Xan isn't one of them.


	149. Will you marry me?

_He dreamt. The raven watched in anticipation. The golden disked pendant around its neck seemed to glow, the skull's pinprick eyes of red awake. The tears circling the skull seemed brighter, murmuring despair._

_He turned to look at the light; her outline was blurred, nearly featureless, but he felt her smile. Without sound, she seemed to whisper, 'You are ready.'_

_The raven cawed._


	150. Spake the raven, no you're not

_He dreamt. The raven watched in anticipation. The golden disked pendant around its neck seemed to glow, the skull's pinprick eyes of red awake. The tears circling the skull seemed brighter, murmuring despair._

_He turned to look at the light; her outline was blurred, nearly featureless, but he felt her smile. Without sound, she seemed to whisper, 'You are ready.'_

_The raven cawed._


	151. Noname, GeneRic, Lt

Ches 16, 1372 DR.

We have arrived. Tethyr received my letter, thanks to Nasher's court mage, and responded graciously. We are welcome to make landfall.

We were met by one of the royal army's lieutenants; we have been officially asked to head west, and join their general. Their army, he says, is much depleted, having suffered several 'setbacks'. They are sorely in need of mages, paladins, anyone who can fight. He has not said it, but he believes they are losing the war. His former general was killed, slain at the hands of the Bhaalspawn Abazigal. Before the royal army could be vanquished entirely, a force sent by the Bhaalspawn Balthazar showed up and struck Abazigal's host from the flank. This bought the routed Tethyrians time to retreat. Although outnumbered, Balthazar's caused much damage before retreating, leaving the bulk of Abazigal's force in disarray.

No one knows what game Balthazar is playing, but the lieutenant claims he is currently besieged by Abazigal's forces in a mountain fortress to the south. The desert sands there have drunk much blood since the conflict began.

It is time. This has been delayed long enough.


	152. Who doesn't? Knights are morons

Tarsakh 8, 1372 DR.

Neverwinter's banner stands beside mine. We are five hundred strong, a full tenth of whom are mounted. We have twenty five priests, fifteen mages, and of course, my pack. Twelve paladins accompany us, and my 'advisor' is none other than Khelgar Ironfist, the dwarf who once governed Crossroads Keep. That, now, is mine, and I am seen as an untried knight, despite my many duels at court and in the practice field.

I try not to think about my inauguration, or what a mockery it is. I have added a single white wing to the upper left of my coat of arms, though none have understood what it means. Those that do are pack, and they have held their silence. Delainy thinks less of me for this; since I explained it, she does not care for the concept of nobles, and having witnessed it, likes it even less.

At first, she refused to travel with me, but upon the eve of our departure, she turned her face and informed me that she would not be left behind. Such was her determination, I had to hold back a smile.

Cythandria has remained subdued since our 'talk', and whenever I am in the same room, she occupies the corner furthest from me, but when I leave, she rises and follows, eyes down. She cannot stand to be close to me, but she cannot bear to be far. She will not meet my eyes, and if I catch hers, she looks away. The shame of being my brother's discards, and my subsequent rejection because of it has stung her deeply, perhaps too deeply. Before we left, I told her that she is still welcome; she looked up, shocked, then turned, as if I had slapped her. She knows that if she ever harms Delainy, she will rouse a rage as great as Sarevok's, so she has taken care not to cross that line. Spurning her advances, but still regarding her with respect has unsettled her. She is angry, hurt, and resentful; I have not abused her as my brother did, but clothed her in silks and jewels. The shame of it burns, but part of her holds onto hope I may one day accept her, or at least favour her should I ascend. I might be wrong.

Lastri Kassireh has sent word to us. Her messenger caught us early this morning. The ships, she says, are still safe, and the wards are holding against the storms. Safe anchorage was found, but the Sahuagin are a problem and have been raiding up and down the coast. It will be months before reinforcements arrive from Neverwinter, if they arrive at all. I have told her to stay put, but to abandon the ships if it comes to it. I would rather be stranded in Tethyr and work out way back up north by land than sacrifice the lives of my crews. Kassireh understands that.

I have asked Xan to use the Heartstone. By tomorrow, we will know where the Bhaalspawn are, and who is left. The scrying is based off reports from the lieutenant's scouts. We are nearing the royal army.


	153. It's what we do, Every family squabbles

Tarsakh 10, 1372 DR.

Edwina has presented me with a gift. I already knew of it, as did my band, but this was official, complete with pomp and ceremony to up the men's morale. Twenty golems, stored in lowest holds of the deck, sailed with us from Neverwinter. Inscribed with tattoos and armed and armoured, Imoen affectionately referred to one as 'Fleshie'. They stand taller than the tallest man, uniformly at twelve feet high. They are broad, fast, and Edwina has told me, with a smirk, that when she utters the command, their skin will turn to stone.

She has not divulged where she got the flesh from, but I suspect it may have been grown. I will not speculate on how.

Having seen the devastation that afflicts the land, the men have responded more than favourably and praise the wizard's name, which is no doubt what she wanted.

Not to be outdone, Cythandria has presented me with another gift. A… seeing stone, she calls it. She explained later, with a wave of my hand as she stood before me in my tent, that she crafted it because she did not trust the 'slimeball'. She had forgotten about it until she heard a rumour, and decided to follow up on it. She believed I would find it interesting. Now we are in range, the stone has confirmed the rumour. Operating in the area is an old 'associate' of hers. Saemon Havarian.

She has had the silver blade fixed to a new hilt, the pommel a star sapphire, and presented it to me in an elegant scabbard of worked leather. The scabbard she has enchanted, and whether I take up the sword myself, or hand it to a champion does not matter; it is mine to do with as I wish, she says. If I use it to strike Havarian's head off, it will please her more than words could say. What has he done to earn her entity, I wonder? On reflection, I do not wish to know.

Xan has linked the Heartstone to a bowl of water. This way, we can all see what the gem is showing him. Most of my kin have fallen; the more powerful are reduced to only a few. There have been few decisive strikes in this conflict, but assassins are the norm, and armies clash with each other frequently. Towns and cities are sacked, and the conflict has spread beyond Tethyr into the surrounding regions. The Bhaalspawn fight each other as much as they fight the sovereign lands they invade.


	154. They're just not Bhaalspawn

Tarsakh 12, 1372 DR.

Cythandria came to me before dawn. She spoke briefly, but succinctly of a warrior Sarevok chose over her. Tamoko. When Sarevok marched south, he had no more need of a concubine; he lived solely for slaughter. Battle did not interest him, only murder. Tamoko, his lover, shared his bed before Cythandria, and for a time, they shared him; one night he would visit one of them, then the next day the other. She spoke calmly, but her eyes were cold. When she reached the part about his neglect of Tamoko while he used Cythandria to advance his political standing as he began to garner support for when he stood as archduke, bitterness coloured her words.

Then, he abandoned her for Tamoko. Through gritted teeth, she fumed, believing she had won him only to be cast aside; at first, she thought it was one of his machinations. The son of a god was fickle, she explained, and Sarevok was a man with many sides, and many faces. A scholar, a warrior, a politician, a lover. A tyrant and a general. He could be savage or tender, his grip firm and strong. She thought to toy with him at first, but drawn by his power, she wished to serve him as her god, to rule beside him. Tamoko wasn't elegant, she wasn't refined; she was Kara-Turan. Cythandria didn't consider her rival cultured, but something about her drew Sarevok to her.

I looked at her and wondered how much of Tamoko she saw in Delainy. She must have known what I was thinking, because she paled, and had I not been the son of my sire, she would have left the tent. Instead, she saw my understanding, and stood as if she had been slapped.

For a moment, I forgot myself, forgot what sort of woman she is, and pulled her to me, as I would have done Skie. Her eyes widened, then filled. She tried to break away, but froze; she stiffened when I kissed her forehead, stared, then turned and marched from the tent, past Jaheira as she entered. Delainy was a few steps behind her. Both smelt her on me, and I on her. Later that evening, I told Delainy of Tamoko. Cythandria will be furious, but perhaps an understanding will develop between them. Cythandria has caught the eye of several of the paladins and knights. She could lay claim to any man she wished in the camp, except for perhaps Khalid, and a couple of other devoted husbands. She doesn't seem interested.


	155. If you want someone dead

Tarsakh 17, 1372 DR.

Sa'Sani ignores Cythandria, in spite of the fact they brought the herald down together. I noticed this when Sa'Sani came to see me and Cythandria was lingering at the edges. My tent has maps of the region, and she wished to discuss plans of war.

Her suggestions have been… insightful. I must never underestimate her. Her potential for cunning far exceeds my own, and even with so few troops, she believes we can bait larger forces and bring them to ruin. Her clan's experience from fighting in jungle has led to the development of raids. Brutal, swift, they slash the enemy's flank and cut his supplies, poison his water, and move like shadows. These are not honourable tactics, but deception is the heart of war, as she put it.

The way she looked at me was… earnest, and expectant, as if she anticipated rejection, but was too proud to bow her head. Her words were soft, considered; not the tone she used when we were in Samargol. She is a princess, but speaks to me as a king.

I have placed the silver sword in her hands. She reacted as if I had put a viper – a poor analogy; as if it burned. How could she be unaware I possessed such a thing when she knows so much about everything? She has said it is the blade of a githyanki, and a cult of githyanki knights, 'Sword Stalkers', hunt down and slay any they find in possession of one. It is an unforgivable blasphemy in their eyes.

What then, was Havarian doing with one?

A conflict with the githyanki is the last thing we need. The sword, however, is a weapon of immense power. I have asked Xan if there is anything they can do to hide and alter its appearance; Sa'Sani is conferring with him. Khelgar Ironfist happened to chance a glimpse of the sword when he entered; he recognised it immediately and swore several vile oaths. It seems clear he has had dealings with the githyanki before; interesting, I must ask him about that sometime.

Imoen, despite my better judgement, has joined the scouts. She is versed in the Art, and respected for it, so I doubt the men will try anything with her. If they do…

The news she brings back is grim. The entire countryside seems depopulated. The further west we go, the worse it gets.

The most crushing news of all comes from Xan. The Tethyrian royal army has been utterly vanquished. One Bhaalspawn has gained dominance over all, appearing from the west and striking in all three directions at once. He set the Tethyrians to rout, then used a pincer force to smash them. A simple, yet old trick. The lieutenant is devastated. Tethyr lies open for conquest. It seems we are its last hope.

Despair has taken root and spread through my band. They have not seen my victory over the herald, Belhifet, Yxunomei and Icharyd. I have wondered about asking the Solar for a sign, but if I am her champion, it is I who must find the courage to lead them. They are my men.

Part of their dejection comes from Abazigal's defeat. Abazigal, it is rumoured, was a blue dragon. The Heartstone reveals it was a man who slew the wyrm. A man sheathed in black, spiked armour.


	156. Pesky critters they are too!

_He always known it would come down to this. Sarevok. …A woman, a Kara-Turan, marched beside him, and she gave orders to another. Vai marched on the wrong side._

_The skull on the pendant mocked him with its grotesque grin._

_In the dream, the Solar stood beside him; he couldn't see her, but he knew that she was there. He looked down at himself, and shifted uncomfortably in his armour. Perfectly balanced, lighter than cloth, it shone like the dawn sun. Silver-white, the Amaryllis mounted on a golden sun. Its radiance blurred the physical lines. She dressed him like a paladin, with eyes like an aasimar._

_She named him 'Solaris', the Light Bearer. 'Godchild', she called him, not 'godling', like the others. _Her_ godchild? He was her champion, her chosen. Slowly, he held Aihonen aloft. It burned white than fire._

_The drow would kill him._

_Why had she sent him to the Underdark?_

_He awoke with a start. The cries of battle reached his ears. The …Drow were attacking?_


	157. Kinda easy given what we did  last summ

Tarsakh 18, 1372 DR.

"Victory is yours," Cythandria announced in ringing tones. "Victory is ours," she informed the camp, half bowing before me. Ironfist grunted.

The armoured flesh golems won the day. They… routed the raiders utterly. Two dead, crossbowmen, to their twenty-five. Most of them were Duergar, grey dwarves, slaves. A desperate attack… and one I fear is bait. Sa'Sani suspects the same. We tracked the fleeing back to a cave, and the mages have detected faint magic around it. I do not like this, but I do not intend to leave a force of Drow at my back.

We move on them as soon as it is light.


	158. er, Yay a new pet!

Tarsakh 21, 1372 DR.

The defences so far are… minimal. I do not understand this. The tunnels are largely abandoned. We fought through with little difficulty; a few defenders, many of whom fled at our approach, and a few traps. This place bears the scars of battle. We have captured a Duergar, and he simply refers to 'the Mistress', and speaks with a bowed head and broken spirit. He is a pathetic sight, half starved and covered with bruises and cuts, the hallmarks of the lash.

He could be there to fool is into lowering our guard. We proceed with caution.


	159. Twists what now?

Tarsakh 22, 1372 DR.

There is no one here. They are all dead. The few survivors have scattered. What was this place? An enclave? The tunnels stretch out in all directions, but there is nothing. Someone – or something – has been through here. It is… unnerving.

We have found the central chamber. There are signs a lich resided in the chambers to the northeast; this has the feel of a sanctum to it. There are pedestals were statues once stood, but no longer. Xan has confirmed that this is Drow in origin, and dislikes it intensely.

It could serve as a temporary base of operations. We have set up camp here, for now. It may be our tomb, but for now, there are teams searching the tunnels. The lich's rooms have been sacked, as have the rest of the chambers. The lieutenant has told us of rumours of a Drow Bhaalspawn, but little else is known. If she has not relocated, she has fallen.

I do not like this.


	160. Not over yet

Tarsakh 25, 1372 DR.

There are no more than a dozen Duergar left. They are starved, broken wretches. Most of the few survivors fled at our arrival, but these surrendered. They are desperate for even a hunk of bread. It shames me to see such pitiful gratitude. Duergar, I read, are proud, warlike miners, like their surface kin. I shouldn't believe everything I read, but…

I have offered them a choice. They may brave their own way back to whatever cavern they came from, or they march with me. I given food enough to last them several days, clothes and let them arm themselves from the fallen. Not only have ten of them sworn themselves to my banner, they have taken my message to those who fled.

The Neverwinterians are not happy. They hold little trust for soldiers not of their city, and bear much ill-will towards the 'peoples of the deep'. I have yet to learn whether this is simple prejudice or something deeper. …I did not just – nevermind.

Khalid and Jaheira have approached me, together and apart. They sense an end to this conflict. I have expressed my gratitude at all they have done, and released them from my service. They looked at me strangely; Jaheira shook her head as if I had taken leave of my wits. They told me how… proud they were of me, how much I had grown from a scared boy unable to bring himself to enter Nashkel's mines to a knight with lands, and leader of a cartel that has single-handedly rejuvenated so much of the Sword Coast. I do not know how they know of the writs I issued before we left; tenancy loans for Beregost, the same offer we made to those in and around Neverwinter. We buy their lands and lease it back to them for a number of years before returning it to them in exchange for goods and coin.

Jaheira, who approves so little of civilisation, and even less of nobility, seems to think I am more of a prince, or a king, to the citizens of the Sword Coast than their own rulers. She says I've turned back famine while respecting nature. Khalid also approves, and both claim Gorion… would be proud of me. They will see this through to the end. After that…

We are pack.


	161. Better late than never

Tarsakh 27, 1372 DR.

_Dawn –_

Last night, I dreamt. I… remember waking. The herald's spear piercing me, the agony unbearable, shooting, lancing pain, and numbness. There was darkness, a sense of floating on nothingness. Timeless. Blackness formed around me. The light was there, she touched me, 'Awaken, godchild,' she said, such warmth in her words, gentle, amused, 'it is not time yet. Your part in this isn't over.'

I remember agreeing with her. I felt something inside stir, then surge through me, forcing back the pain, two opposing currents, a tide against a river.

'Come, we have much to discuss. You have questions, and there is much you must learn.'

Her words resonated, ringing clearly, without boast or pride. Simple utterance. She was… fond? of me, as if she had been waiting an eternity for this meeting.

I stood; I do not know how. I do not remember standing, or moving, only that I thought I should. She towered over me, this being of light. She was… beautiful. Blurred outline, transient, glowing, her features more an impression, as if translucent. Her wings weren't feathered, but tendrils of white, vast, flowing, as if here, in this place, solidity was unnecessary, the appearance of feathers an afterthought. She smiled.

How long did I stare at her? I do not remember being amazed; she simply was what she was, and I accepted it.

'My champion', she greeted.

I didn't answer.

'Solaris,' The Solar continued, 'favoured of the gods.'

I shook my head; no one had ever called me that before. It wasn't a name I wore, but somehow, it was right.

'Your True Name,' she added more gently, 'Light Bringer.'

There was no retort, no witty comeback. I simply accepted; it was right, I knew. I remember distantly, some part of me thinking, 'I don't believe in the gods.' I had seen what they allowed. They were real enough, I knew, but I did not trust them. The Solar seemed to understand, reading my thoughts.

'They believe in you. Some fear you, others champion you.'

Was that why she was here, part of me wondered.

'I am a guide, to aid you in your destiny.'

The gods were not supposed to interfere.

She smile warmed, 'it is you who sought me, godchild. The order upon which the realms are built is not so unkind to deny choice.'

I understood. I was born to Murder, a child for sacrifice. I had resisted, turned from a dead god's will, sought out another way… and here she was; she had answered my call.

'You are not bound by your sire's wish. Each child is their own.'

I had been given a choice. But there were consequences; a god's will could not be so easily thwarted, nor events undone.

She looked beyond my shoulder; I followed her gaze. The herald lay dead, struck down. I looked back at her; had I been myself, I would have swallowed.

'Look,' she both invited and commanded. Beyond the herald was a… door, of sorts. A doorframe of stone, the door inky blackness.

Somehow, I understood. A test, like the trials of knighthood, set for me… by myself. A thing unresolved… Without moving, I was there, my will.

Nashkel. The mines. The place I feared, the tunnels with their darkness. I glanced down; at my side was Aihonen, sheathed, but glowing. This time, I was ready. I frowned, and unbuckled my belt. This would not be a true test of courage. Had I had Aihonen four years ago, would I still have frozen? The sword disappeared from my side; I entered the blackness.

Shadows danced, playing across my vision. Spectres, Gorion being cut down, spitted against a blade thrice as long as my body, by a masked giant in armour. Blackness all around me. The giant was immense, taller than the herald, than the Solar. Taller than a demon. Gorion died, his eyes searching out mine, hand outstretched, pleading silently for my help.

I walked on.

Assassins came for me, striking at me with their daggers and evaporating into clouds. They stalked me, then charged; I kept on, descending deeper and deeper. Demons, with red glowing eyes attacked, kobolds, twisted horrifically from life. Horned, spikes, fearsome weapons, fangs.

Werewolves came at me, claws and teeth snapping at my throat.

I walked on.

Frost Giants tried to bury me again. Boulders flung, the avalanche tumbled, trying to drown me. Yuan-ti, the torsos and arms of men fused into the bodies of snakes, surged forward. The dead, skeletons of those I'd failed to save, wraiths, wailed accusingly. Faces of those I'd known. Garrick.

Lysan stood at the end of the tunnel, accusing. Her hands were drenched in blood, her Aurilite frost-maiden robes white, spectral. Her throat was whole. I paused to regard her. She stared hate.

I walked on.

Arundel loomed, broader and more menacing than in life. Shadows cloaked him. His eyes said what words could not: I had defiled the sanctuary of Kuldahar, stolen the Heartstone.

I walked on.

Past him, Pomab, the traitor. Mocking, hungry, a knife in his hands. Hrothgar stood behind him, a spear in his wizened hands. Old, grizzled, tired, proud. He let me pass unchallenged, his town lost. I had not saved him.

Kresselack, the cursed spirit of the tomb, ruler of the Vale of Shadows. He saluted me.

Evayne, the elf girl, lost child of Larrel. Kaylessa, the weapons trainer, swords drawn as she stood to test me. I stood before her, waiting. Finally, she put up her swords, bowed and stepped back. Lethias, Custhantos from the library. They lined the way. Denaini the priestess. She regarded me with sympathy and distaste, I, the defiler, spawn of lies. I stood still in judgement, awaiting judgement. Finally, she nodded, holding out her hands for a blessing; I bowed my head and she blessed me. I looked up and she was gone. The blackness greyed for a moment, then returned.

Icharyd waited in challenge, his flail readied. Behind him, Korax lurked, the hunchbacked ghoul poised to scurry at his master's bidding, a club in hand. The wight hissed a war cry.

I walked on.

Yxunomei, Belhifet. Side by side, watching, waiting for me. I looked up at both of them, beautiful, proud, alien, evil. We would meet again, I knew. My enemies were legion.

His smile was slight, the smallest nod, as if amused by something I did not know; her tail twitched, her gaze wrathful. The smile acknowledged me, a wry salute.

They let me pass.

The tunnel wound down.

Sa'Sani waited, the yuan-ti princess head of her clan. Her fangs glistened with venom, only the tip visible. She was armed for war, tall, prepared. I studied her, and shook my head. I would not fight her this day. She stepped back into shadow.

The tunnel ended, opening out into a cave. A domed. I stepped inside; the tunnel behind me closed, sealing into the wall. A dragon waited, white, translucent, a shade. Icasaracht. The wyrm stared down at me, cold fury in its eyes. Hate radiated. I bore a blade I did not deserve, had not earned. Aihonen appeared in my hand, its silver shimming brilliant white. Icasaracht roared, rearing. The dragon could not breech the silence. Of its own accord, Aihonen rose, naked in my hand. Icasaracht struck.

I emerged, the chamber fading behind me. Hours or heartbeats had passed. Aihonen pulsed in my hand. I looked up at the Solar; she was pleased.

I awoke.


	162. Multiple Realities

Tarsakh 27, 1372 DR.

Delainy sat beside me most of the day. She seems concerned. I can see she thinks me pensive, unusually quiet. She says nothing, just put her hand on mine. She seems content to wait. Privately, I told her about the dream. She… listened.

A pool of… mirrors. Many pools, still, lit by an unseen source. A domed cavern; the Solar stood beside me. She took me to each of the pools without ever moving. I looked at the silver edge…

Imoen… alone in a shed outside Beregost. A man I did not recognise. Brown curly hair, plain featured… evicted from their work, travelling with Kagain. Hunting a golden eyed giant of a man… Imoen in a cell, a masked man…

The pool shimmered, another one taking its place. A girl, no, a young woman; I blanched. She was caged, suspended in darkness, staring at another… those same golden eyes. They were scarred, hurt. Her hair was black, her skin fair. She wore light green robes, embroidered with gold and edged with runes over grey leggings and sandy brown boots. White peaked through, her inner robes suggesting modesty. Her belt held many pouches and her satchel hung easily at her side. Leather vambraces held daggers, as did her boots and belt. I counted at least seven.

'Who is she?'

Black armour studded with spikes sheathed the golden eyed man from head to toe.

She addressed him as 'brother'.

'What is this?'

The Solar didn't answer. She just looked at the pool. My eyes followed her.

An assassin, the mirror image of his mother. Dark eyed, green, pale skinned, black haired. She was tall, composed, critical, her slender hands clasped neatly. A long dress, fashioned as a robe, simple, elegant, black; she was… stunning. Her son stood silent, viewing through a bowl.

A Solar… greeting him as "godchild" in a dream. Golden eyes in… Candlekeep? Softly spoken, cowled as a monk. Imoen…

A different pool. Imoen commanded a host, a multitude of followers. An elf battled his foe, the golden eyes in black armour. A drow and another elf, maidens both, headed towards Nashkel. Their father had been murdered.

'Solar?'

'Watch.'

A child on the streets of Baldur's Gate, lost and alone. Memories of a temple, a mother, suppressed, forgotten. A man…

'Solar–' I could not watch this.

Her look was only slightly reproaching, her eyes understanding. She did not speak. I looked.

Imoen, the golden eyed one, Candlekeep, Gorion.

The vision changed.

A young man stood viewing a pool like this one. His had taken a different path. Imoen stood near the pool's edge, as did… Sarevok, him of the golden eyes. Jaheira. A Drow priestess. A dream. He looked up at the Solar, addressing her simply as, "my lady."

Always those golden eyes, and Imoen. A masked man with cold blue eyes.

Now I understood. I was… looking at myself.

But that had not been my journey.

Delainy's mouth brushed my cheek, as if about to speak, then thinking better of it. Her kiss held meaning enough. In their journey, there were no heralds, no werewolves, no Belhifet. I looked at her, managing a small smile. Our hands found the other's, and we shared silence.

Then Sa'Sani came in.

The Yuan-ti ignored our hand holding, and informed me that the mages were ready. Delainy looked uncertain, first at Sa'Sani and then at me.

Xan's mirror was complete.


	163. Momma!

Tarsakh 28, 1372 DR.

I dreamt again. Memories. This time of Cespenar. An imp, cringing, grovelling, desperate to serve. I lowered Aihonen. I was not my sire.

I saw Garrick's shade, Minsc's, other faces from my past. I saw Kagain operating a caravan, hired by my cartel, Lysan chanting in a shrine, unheeded by her mistress. I saw Sarevok standing before stones wider than three Frost Giants, carved in the shape of heads. He was alone. They spoke no more. The Bhaalspawn fumed, not caring for their message. He left the sacred grove, marching south and west, the half ogre Tazok tailing behind him.

Xan held Erevain's journal, the elf from Easthaven, fallen in Dragon's Eye. We returned his body to Kuldahar, some part of me dimly registered. I caught a glimpse of the elven script, understanding the delicately crafted characters. _"It is an endeavour doomed to failure. Oh, there I go again. Corellon help me, I'm starting to sound like cousin Xan!"_

In the dream, I was numb, detached, but I remember feeling shock. Xan had never mentioned kinship with Erevain; the two conversed in Easthaven's tavern…

Sarevok entered a temple, lost in the forest. Once the worship of our sire took place here, but now it was deserted. Wraiths guarded the alter; one took the form of a man, one Sarevok addressed as Rieltar. In the vision, there was no sound, but somehow I heard his words. The wraith taunted the black armoured man; Sarevok laughed, chillingly, madly. Then his eyes cooled, "Die." He took a menacing step forward, his sword severing the vision; the wraith screamed. The Bhaalspawn set about purging the temple, his followers waiting outside.

An image of Rieltar slowly choking, his throat crushed as an armoured arm held him aloft flashed. Fear filled the leader of the Iron Throne's eyes. A dagger had already pierced his stomach, a slow wound, as he crawled away to safety. Face-down, he hauled himself up when he reached the plated boots. Hate filled golden eyes regarded him with contempt. Surprise met them, then despair. Rieltar thrashed, kicking uselessly…

The vision of a garrotte around a woman's throat, her soft white flesh red, her eyes bulging. She clawed at the cord. Hard hands tightened; she was on her knees in front of a bed. Rieltar stood, merciless. A boy no more of eight stared at him, fists clenched. Golden eyes vowed retribution.

Everything changed. I saw the woman whose face was my own. She cradled a babe in her arms, a boy. No swaddling cloth or blanket covered him. Her arms were sheathed in black, her sleeves long and sleek, like the rest of her dress, the sleeves and skirt back angular, drawn to a triangle. Her cowl was pulled back, her lush hair shining in the torchlight. Tenderly, she laid the child down on a grey stone block, already prepared with runes. A dagger lay beside him, the blade naked, honed to a razor's edge. She looked down at him, her expression unreadable.

A pendant hung from her neck, a gold disk set with the effigy of a skull, tears encircling it.


	164. Hi and bye, Amelyssan

Tarsakh 29, 1372 DR.

Another dream. A woman stood before Sarevok, her hair an fiery-auburn, her face composed, serene. A mask. _"Heh,"_ Sarevok's sword appeared in his hand. The woman took a backwards step, fear and hate filling her gaze. Her lips twisted; the blade down came and she screamed.

Sarevok's boot crushed her as he tugged the sword loose. Her mouth hung open, her body crumpled. His look aimed towards the distant horizon, reflective. Tamoko regarded the dead woman, then walked after her master.

"_He does not need you," _a robed man told the corpse, _"he does not need any of us. I taught him the rites."_

'Who was she?' I asked, hoping the Solar would answer. None was forthcoming.


	165. Always a choice

Tarsakh 29, 1372 DR.

Two dozen Duergar have rallied to our cause. Sa'Sani has left, telling me in private that she will bring yuan-ti to aid us. I am taking a risk in trusting her, but she is right. Neither of us spoke of it, but we are both aware we will lose as we are. With the royal army crushed, we have lost what we were all counting on: a host to reinforce. Now we're on our own, talk of desertion has begun. From the lips of the younger nobles, courtiers playing at being soldiers, rather than the young knights who seek glory in battle, it has spread to the ranks. The paladins and knights speak scornfully of this, though the older ones are wise enough to know we must do something. I have said nothing, but I wonder if I should turn them all to pack.

Imoen, Alora and the scouts have returned with news. This enclave is isolated, but there is a sealed tunnel stretching down. They have not explored it fully, but they believe it leads to the Underdark, rather than to the surface. It is either a supply route, or a means of escape. The Duergar know nothing of it, suggesting it was collapsed before they were brought here; perhaps we are sitting on an older site than previously thought.

There is grumbling while we sit here. Some of the men believe we should be out hunting our foe; others believe we are making ourselves a target by holing up in here. Edwina has scornfully informed any who dare disturb her with their chatter that we are baiting a trap, but while she has mollified a few, not everyone is convinced. They wonder why I wait.

Xan is working on a portal to Crossroad's Keep. The portal lens has detected the presence of a disused one, similar in shape to the one in Chult, a sort of summoning circle, by Edwina's account. They believe that they can link it to the Lantanese portal web our cartel employs. It will take time, but I don't see we have a choice.

I have informed the men of this, and hope has resurged.

I wish Xan had told me of this sooner, but it is not his way to bring sometime to my attention until he has studied it. I would feel happier if he were more confident of the outcome, but Xan believes all our efforts are doomed to failure. Edwina is more optimistic, but that gives me little hope. She believes her power is matched only by her ambition and skill. I am more inclined to trust Cythandria, but I cannot be certain she won't sabotage this and betray us to Sarevok at a critical moment; scorned or not, she still has feelings towards my brother. That is why I sent her with Sa'Sani.


	166. Gorion's ward hath come, sort of

Tarsakh 30, 1372 DR.

The Solar showed me the stone heads. She brought them to me. I do not know how I forgot this. The heads spoke in riddles, of crossroads in time, of a godspawn foreseen foretold. A god rising.

I think it is time I speak to her.


	167. He's doomed

Mirtul 4, 1372 DR.

The scouts have brought me a captive. Saemon Havarian. They found him snooping around, some way to the south, scavenging a battlefield.

In exchange for his life, the smuggler has offered us troops and supplies. The man is more of a snake than the yuan-ti. His word secretes oil, and he is a coward driven by self-preservation. He tries to sell barren dirt to a farmer. He is evasive and spins yarns about how he had his ship confiscated over some 'misunderstanding', and was forced to captain a vessel transporting conscripts and criminals to Athkatla. He says he would _never_ be involved in the transportation of Black Lotus, and such allegations wound him. Having lost his ship, he claims to have been captured by the Sahuagin, and by chance, he was fortunate enough to escape. He then braved the Underdark, only to be taken in by a drow raiding party, which was in turn ambushed by elves. In the confusion, he escaped and fled south, knowing the Amnish were still after him. He ended up working for a monastery trading goods between it, the town, and caravans.

I don't believe a word of it.

I have given him to Xan.


	168. Goodbye, Saemon

Mirtul 6, 1372 DR.

The mirror works.


	169. Now I know how it feels

Mirtul 12, 1372 DR.

The summoning circle has been adapted. Fifteen Neverwinterian mages working together with Xan and Edwina have proven beneficial. Between working on this, they reinforce the wards, as do the priests. We will not meet our foe here, but it will be… if we are forced to retreat.

The priests tell me they have sanctified the enclave, purifying it in the name of Tyr.

I'm not exactly fond of the maimed god, or any of the others. At least one of them serves Helm; she declared loudly that _'the Watcher sees all'_, and our actions here _'will be judged'_. It is strange that Khelgar and I would bond over such a thing, especially after I faced him in a trial of combat. Delainy was concerned, Jaheira disapproving, but they understood the necessity of maintaining command. Khalid drilled me first, but he needn't have. My bladework has… improved. Aihonen found its way past Khelgar's axe and over the shield rim, flicking to the dwarf's throat before he swung. I have won the dwarf's respect; his eyes were wide, reconsidering me. I'm still not sure what happened…

I'm glad we did not bring Skie along. An armed camp is no place for her. I hope leaving her in charge of the cartel's operations was wise, but she surprised me by how quickly she took to understanding and organising the ledgers', once she got over her initial groans of how boring numbers were. She seemed to have revised her opinion, and I couldn't drag her away from it. I know Imoen mentioned something; I caught the word 'swindle', but little else.


	170. This time it really is!

Mirtul 13, 1372 DR.

We have run out of time. The Heartstone gem has revealed the banner of Bhaal, led by Sarevok is a tenday away. They march towards Castle Tethyr. If we stay here, their scouts will find us. It is time to end this.


	171. Why not? Nimbul came for me!

Mirtul 13, 1372 DR.

_Gateclose –_

My 'advisors' have been debating all day. Khelgar wishes to march and meet the 'last of the Bhaalspawn', as he puts it, and plant an axe in his skull, not realising, or caring, that the prophecy predicted a score of us. Whether literal or figurative, the actual number is unknown. The dwarf thinks to rid the Realms of all of us, and get back to doing what he hates: paperwork. He has admitted that battle and drink are two pleasures he sorely misses when at court.

Edwina has an alternate plan. One involving a score of fireballs, and other devastating spells. She thinks we should fortify ourselves here.

Khalid, strangely, agrees with both of them. He suggests we raid them at night, then retreat. The paladins will never stand for it, and I am surprised by his plan. He cites the 'better part of valour' in favour of suicide.

Xan has the most surprising suggestion of all. We should conceal ourselves, and when the enemy passes over us, strike them from the rear. Khelgar was both impressed and disguised by this, believing that relying on wizardry is cowardice; better to fight openly.

Jaheira disapproves of all of this, and believes we should engage them in the forests, where nature will aid us. She has a point: if Sarevok's forces contain cavalry, the forest will render them nearly worthless. The trouble is, it will do the same to ours. Khalid has pointed out we could hide our horse, and charge them in the flank while the foot fights in the forest.

Khelgar thinks splitting our force is suicide.

The Tethyrian Lieutenant has put forward a darker suggestion. Jaheira's look was so sharp, I thought it might skewer him. It is the plan that has been on everyone's minds, but up until now, no one has mentioned it. Sarevok is the threat here. Without him…

I have said nothing. What do I know of war? If we are to make a stand, we should plant our banner. That much I do know. Everyone will look to me for a decision.

The other option no one has voiced is perhaps the simplest. We do not stand and fight; we retreat. With nothing in his way, Sarevok will march on Castle Tethyr. His battlemages and engineers will construct trebuchets and the city will fall, as Saradush did. His soldiers will storm its streets and slaughter all inside. If we do nothing, it is a certainty.

If we allow Sarevok to besiege the city, his army will spread out and encircle the walls. We will not have the advantage of choosing the battlefield, but his forces will be thinned. He would be at his most vulnerable, with most of his force facing the city. If we fail, Tethyr falls.


	172. There's always Fleshie

Mirtul 13, 1372 DR.

_Evenpeal –_

They are all appalled at my suggestion.

No one has a better plan.

I wish they did.


	173. Single Combat

Mirtul 13, 1372 DR.

_Night –_

The Solar will not answer.

I have spent most of the night lying awake. Delainy watches me, unwilling to sleep while I can't. There is another way. I know she will not like it. She finds the notion of war repulsive, and she's right. Killing, the hunt, is one thing, but this is something else. She understands territorial disputes, the need for food, and even killing to survive. She doesn't see the sense of this conflict though.

I have told her we will hunt tomorrow, and return. I hoped it would cheer her, it hasn't.

I fear she knows what I intend.


	174. I wasn't really, aw c'mon, Delainy!

Mirtul 14, 1372 DR.

Delainy is gone.


	175. And a partridge in a pear tree again

Mirtul 16, 1372 DR.

The scouts have returned… and they have brought hope with them. Two hundred survivors from the royal army. Once it boasted two hundred and thirty thousand, they claim. Now only a few ragtag bands remain; most of them have fled to the mountains, woods, or back to the capital.

Two hundred is more than we had, but it will not be enough. I have placed the Lieutenant in charge of them. Once they're fed and rested, they'll be better for it. The priests will have their work cut out for them.

In all, we have twenty-four Duergar, twenty armoured flesh golems, twelve paladins, twenty five clerics, fifteen mages, fifty horse (including the paladins), fourteen knights (also mounted), and three hundred and fifty men at arms and fifty scouts, consisting of cartel and Neverwinterian forces (a mix of crossbows, pikes, sword and shield), eight courtiers and their entourages, numbering twenty eight men at arms, and two hundred Tethyrian survivors, a mix of veterans, elites and recruits. Then there's Khelgar, Cythandria, and Sa'Sani, and the pack.

In addition to cleansing this place, the priests have been blessing the weapons.

The Heartstone reveals a rough count of three thousand marching with Sarevok. Mages, clerics, and blackguards amongst them. The Flaming Fist's banner flies below Bhaal's, as does the Black Talon's.

Xan is right. We are doomed.


	176. Basically, we fight

Mirtul 16, 1372 DR.

The portal isn't finished. At this rate, it will be five days before Sarevok is here. I have left Xan here to finish; the rest of us march to meet the foe. There is only one way to end this. We fight through to Sarevok. The golems go in first, the Neverwinterian men at arm with fan out on either side. The Duergar will follow the golems, and the cavalry will charge between them in three waves. Each wave will break off and form up for another charge. If the foe moves to compensate, they will funnel out and charge around our flanks to strike the enemy's. The Tethyrians will hold the central rear, the clerics and mages placed at intervals between the men at arms.

I will be in the centre. Jaheira will hold one flank, Edwina another. Imoen and Alora will take two teams of scouts and work their way at Sarevok's flanks. They will be a distraction, and I hope, relatively safe. They have orders to retreat if necessary. The Tethyr Lieutenant's hatred of Bhaalspawn assures me he will do his part; when the golems fall, he and his men will charge in. A winged wedge is what I'm aiming for. Crossbows and pikes in two lines: crossbows at the front, then filtering back before the foe charges and firing from behind. The swords will stand behind the pikes and crossbows, and swarm around, or break through when they are needed. The lines are thin, but we lack the men to form blocks. The pike's push will not last long; when it fails, we draw swords and charge. The mages will counter enemy spells and bowfire for as long as they can, and the clerics will heal the wounded. It is defensive, but we cannot afford to waste spells on futile assaults. Edwina, no doubt, will ignore the stipulation and rain fire and worse down on our foe. I am counting on it.

The wands have been divided amongst those capable amongst the rank and file. Edwina and Imoen each have rods, those these are for when their spells run out, or an opportune moment arises. Jaheira has begun calling the wild beasts and fey of the land, those few that remain, to ask if they will fight with us. I don't hold out much hope they will. This is a battle of men. I cannot stop my hand reaching for the nymph's tear. We need all the help we can get.

Khelgar will lead the Duergar; he says that if we're to die, he'll make sure they won't betray us. I suspect there's more to it; no matter how distant, they are still dwarves, and a shieldwall is something I've yet to hear bettered by another species.

When the time is right, we will use the mirror.

My advisors believe this is the best way forward. It will not hold long; our only chance is to strike the head of the serpent before his bulk crushes us. They will lap around our flanks and surround us. There is a pass between two hillocks, with trees on one side. We will plant our banner there.

There is still no sign of Sa'Sani.


	177. It probably would have done

Mirtul 17, 1372 DR.

_Noon –_

I need to know what's happened to her. It's stupid, reckless, irrational, but I must know. She is pack. I cannot wait any longer.

I will use the Heartstone myself.


	178. Gonna end sooner than I thought

Mirtul 17, 1372 DR.

_Noon –_

I need to know what's happened to her. It's stupid, reckless, irrational, but I must know. She is pack. I cannot wait any longer.

I will use the Heartstone myself.


	179. Stupid static! Where's the rest?

_Delainy stood in a clearing. A Kara-Turan faced her, some feet away. The difference between them were marked; though of a height, the Kara-Turan was stockier, hardened and battle scarred. Her plate was dented and scratched, unadorned but fine. At her hip hung a mace; on her left, two swords, one angled above the other. Her hair was black like her almond-shaped eyes, her skin bronzed olive. Only her mouth suggested a softer side._

_In contrast, Delainy was fair, her hair a mane of browns, heavy and rich, bark and hazel. Her eyes were the same. She stood in a simple dress of white linen, unafraid._

"_Yoshimo," The Kara-Turan ordered without turning, "Back to camp."_

_A man, only slightly taller than she, bowed and stepped back. The resemblance between them was striking. Like her, he carried two swords, though his armour was leather, and a bow filled his hand. It was compact, powerful, and his quiver's fair was headed with exotic feathers._

"_I am Tamoko." The warrioress began._


	180. Prepare to repel boarders! Use fire!

Mirtul 18, 1372 DR.

They are here.


	181. But where's Diarmid? And Prat?

_The banner of Tethyr hung beside the White Amaryllis and Neverwinter's eye. Arrayed against them was the skull. The golden disk and tears gleamed and the clerics in black, hooded, held bone-handled knives aloft. The chanting, joined by the host, was deafening. On his left, the banner of the Black Talon. A huge armoured half-ogre led them. Tazok. The Tethyrians hissed the monster's name with hate and fear. To his right, the Flaming Fist's banner flew, bloodied and tattered. To his horror, he saw a shock of fiery hair._

_The host halted outside of bowrange. Their ranks parted, a huge armoured figure stepping forward. Beside him, a robed man stood, hunched over and cowled. He spoke; his master ignored him. On his left, an armoured woman, the Kara-Turan. Sarevok issued instructions to a scarred man, Zhalimar Cloudwulfe, one of the Tethyrians identified, and to another bearing the sigil of the Flaming Fist, Angelo Dosan. Sarevok's lieutenants saluted, and walked towards their respective positions._

_There would be no parlay. No white flag was raised either side._

_Delainy appeared beside him. "He knows who you are," she said simply, sorrowfully. "I tried…" She looked over at her counterpart, and even at this distance, their gazes met. Whatever passed between them was lost. With a roar, the host surged forwards._


	182. 19 Cha? Cha is in Charname

_Chaos was sewn from their passage._

_Zhalimar Cloudwulfe fought Khelgar Ironfist, Angelo Dosan, Khalid._

_In the centre, where the fighting was thickest, Sarevok laughed, carving a path through his own troops to reach his foe. Behind him, his hooded acolytes chanted Murder's name fanatically. From the dead, they raised warriors. His mentor, Winski Perorate fell to a blast that split the sky and shook the earth; Sarevok did not even notice._

_Semaj the mage bombarded the defenders, but filled with contempt, Edwina countered each spell and returned one of her own. From across the field, the two were locked in a titanic duel, the might of Thay finally proving its worth._

_The Solar's champion abandoned his post, leaving the paladins to battle the blackguards, and the knights to suffer his brother. They fell effortlessly, man and horse brought low in one. One by one, the armoured golems and their wards began to fail, the tattoos bursting and their stone morphed skin cracking. With each fall, a detonation, lightning arcing to strengthen its brother golems and wreak havoc on any foe nearby. Sarevok carved through three without pause._

_Aihonen shimmering like a torch, Solaris pushed through his own ranks and stepped beyond the pike-wall. Delainy went with him. Without helm, he walked, heedless of the arrows zipping overhead, the exchange of crossbows and longbows lost in the mages' battle. In plate armour, his foes faced him._

_Several stepped forward; their commander held out a mailed fist. Haltingly, they stopped. Her face was grim._

"_Vai," he greeted, a sword's length from her. The roar of the living, the cries of the dying and the thud of four thousand feet shook the ground. His word cut through the din reaching her. Her good eye widened, her scar reaching from hairline to mouth._

"_You – _you're_ the Bhaalspawn…"_

_Delainy's lips set in a silent growl._

"_Help me end this madness."_

"_You abandoned us – abandoned me."_

"_I have come to set the Sword Coast free."_

_She didn't answer._

"_He murdered my father."_

_The officer he had served stared at him, unaware of the battle raging around them. Their gazes held, hers hard, his calm. He lowered his sword._

_Vai hesitated, hovering on the brink, aware the battle and with it, the fate of the Realms rested in her hands alone. One of her men stepped forwards to end it, she knocked aside his sword and smashed her mailed glove into his face, he stepped back wheezing through a torrent of blood. She didn't even look at the man. Silently, she willed her former student to raise his guard; he refused._

_He walked as one born to the blade, unconsciously tensing minutely, instinctively attentive of his surroundings. Relaxed, alert, capable and self aware; the subtle changes spoke volumes. No longer was he the young man she taught, who served as her assistant, who fought beside her against the very bandits she now served with. He moved with easy grace, in colours she did not recognise. A flower and one wing. White and pastel pink against shadow blue. A knight's surcoat._

_The brown haired woman beside him did not belong on a battlefield, yet she followed him, guarding his back. She gripped a long bladed dagger, ready to defend him at any cost._

_He never blinked, calmly waiting for her decision, as if his life didn't hang in the balance._

"_Soldiers of the 'Gate, rally to me!" She bellowed, "Sarevok has betrayed us. We stand with Neverwinter! Kill the traitor!"_

_The bleeding Fist raised his sword; Aihonen flashed over her shoulder. The renegade slumped before she realised her former assistant's blade was there. Her eyes widened fractionally. She wouldn't have stood a chance. Their eyes met and held. _

"_Remember your families, remember our home!" Her lieutenant, Caemon, took up the call. Solaris recognised the man in passing, but no more. Evidently, the Flaming Fist were tired of being under Sarevok's boot, despite their victories._

_Sarevok's laughter turned to a roar of rage as the Fist found themselves divided. Those that saw their brothers turn were faced with a terrible choice; face them as foe, or face their master, the Bhaalspawn. Revolt ran through their ranks like the fire that sheathed their emblem._

_Tazok went down, an arrow in the eye. The Black Talon sentries found no rest the past two nights. Their cauldrons were poisoned; several died and many, many more spent the night retching. Guards were found with their throats slit, and their supply tents exploded when their quartermaster and his aides stepped inside. Now arrows riddled the air from the flank, detonating in all directions as if a mage's fireball were thrown. Frantic, the Talons searched for their foe, but could not move in the massed ranks. They began to spread out, even as they charged the pike-wall. In the quagmire, the press of their numbers worked against them, and many of their own were crushed by those behind._

_Then Khalid slipped, overextending his thrust. Angelo Dosan brought his bastard sword down on the half elf's wrist._

_There was no Branwen here this day._


	183. Tamoko doesn't scream

_Knights and paladins lay piled up, a trail of armoured bodies hewn apart, limbs and shields scattered. Sarevok marched forwards, arrows bouncing off him, spells fizzling harmlessly. He did not bother with a shield, laughing as he fought. Almost lazily, he chose his victims, striding over and crushing them, the false promise of single combat for each man and woman he met. False because he hacked those down around him before he issued a challenge. That was what battle was, a chance to walk and kill whomever took his fancy._

_That, at least, was how it looked to Solaris. He noticed his brother did not toy, just waited, then swung. Each swing was death; few could turn aside that terrible blade, and when they did, he seemed amused, then backhanded them and ran them through. Any who could offer more than three parries found themselves under a savage assault; few could land a blow. Those that did got a 'heh,' and then found themselves killed. Sarevok seemed to feed off their fear, as he lost himself to killing._

_It was sickening. A god walking among mortals, knocking over this one and that. The bravest paladin could not match his strength._

_It had to end. Solaris abandoned any semblance of subtly, and began to systematically work his way towards the black armoured monster. He came face to face with Tamoko, who barred his way. Her sword and mace was drawn, and blood splattered her armour. Her eyes were grim, determined, and resigned._

_Vai touched his arm, her eyes locked on the Kara-Turan. Solaris shook his head and accepted the challenge. Beside him, Delainy bared her teeth, ready to spring and shed human form._

_Aihonen's blue flames flared as they met the katana's tip. The mace swung, and caught upon the sword's raised edge. He shoved, she slipped, skidding back. Forcing forwards, he bore down on her. She dropped the mace, shifting both hands to the grip. His left seized her wrist and slowly began to twist. _

"_No!" The voice cut through the noise, a Kara-Turan man appearing from the mob. Desperation lent strength to his plea._

_Solaris hesitated. Delainy did not. She jumped forwards, thrusting before the newcomer could charge the grappling pair. Her long dagger bit into his jerkin; his eyes went wide. Looking down, he lifted his hand in disbelief; Delainy tugged, and he slumped._

"_Yoshimo!" Tamoko screamed, her iron control buckling. Fury turned to ice, but her hate could not move the werewolf afflicted Bhaalspawn. Overpowering her, he shoved her to the ground. She knew death had come for her. Aihonen did not raise, but slid under her chin. His left pulled loose a corked vial and tossed it before her. Shock replaced rage._

"_Surrender," he ordered, "and spare his life and yours. Refuse, and both are forfeit."_

_Faced with the terrible choice of betraying her master and honour, and saving Yoshimo's life, she snatched up the vial. Solaris walked past her; she did not look up. With a single look at the kneeing warrioress, Delainy followed him. Vai hesitated a moment, knowing this was not the time to take prisoners and not finding it within herself to counter the Bhaalspawn's mercy. "Take them into custody," she ordered Caemon, as if they were not on a battlefield. With that, she strode after him._


	184. Behold WraithSarevok

_The battle was going poorly. Twelve of the Duergar had fallen, and six of the golems had been destroyed. A kaleidoscope of colours danced across the battlefield, as if onlookers stared through a prism while under the influence of Black Lotus. Adding to the pandemonium, forest cats, boars, wolves and bears melted out of the trees and made straight for the Black Talon's flank. Joining them, dryads, nymphs, nixies and the woodland fey threw magic from the trees' edge._

_It was not enough. Fully half of the Neverwinterians lay dead or dying, and a third of the Tethyrians were cut down, many savaged by Sarevok's blade. In their haste to kill the oppressor, the tyrant who had sacked their beloved realm, and had a direct hand in torching the city of Saradush, most abandoned defence and charged blindly on. Minsc would have been proud, Solaris realised, as he watched more and more fall, lost to hate before Murder claimed them._

_The front lines began to crumple. If they broke, a rout would begin, and the battle lost._

"_Sarevok!" He bellowed, reaching for Bhaal's essence within him. "Face me, brother!" _

_Laughter met him, as Sarevok looked up from his slaughter. "You must indeed be family." He yanked his sword out of a Tethyrian's stomach. It was the lieutenant. "Killing is our father's work!" He declared, knocking aside another Tethyrian, his spiked gauntlet puncturing the soldier's temple._

"_You're not father."_

"_Heh."_

_Sarevok lunged, sweeping the great sword up in a crescent arc. Aihonen caught it, and turned it aside. Around them, the battle seemed to pause. Sarevok swung again; Solaris stepped inside its path, flipping Aihonen over his arm. Sparks flew as the two blades clashed. Aihonen glowed white, the blue flames beneath its surface leaping. Sarevok's glowed equally bright, temporarily blinding the onlookers._

"_I knew you would come," Sarevok taunted, lifting his blade two-handed. _

"_I watched your 'mother' die." Solaris commented dispassionately._

_Sarevok froze._

_Solaris chose not to take advantage. "The cord that bit her neck was cruel."_

_Sarevok did not answer with words, but swung furiously. Solaris caught it; Sarevok hacked at him, not caring that his opponent was not attacking. His golden eyes were ice._

_Two handed, Solaris caught the strike, gripping Aihonen like a staff. Sarevok bore down, hate filled. Angling the blade, Solaris allowed one knee to bend; Sarevok's slid down to Aihonen's hilt. "Was that the moment you found father?" He asked, breaking away suddenly and twisting. Sarevok reacted with lightning speed, parrying the blade that arced towards his throat. "Or was it when you crushed Rieltar's throat?"_

_From the side, Tamoko watched sadly._

_Sarevok was silent._

"_Is that why you took my father?"_

"_I enjoyed killing the old man," Sarevok grated, pushing forwards, "little brother."_

"_Yes, you did," He answered softly._

"_And now you die."_

"_No."_

_It wasn't Solaris' voice. Sarevok roared with rage. Cythandria walked forwards, Sa'Sani on the far hill, a force of yuan-ti six hundred strong behind her. Sarevok's sword flashed, crackling as it caught Aihonen._

"_I said stop."_

"_This is a familial matter," Solaris warned, "Ignore her, brother."_

_Sarevok didn't seem to hear, and bull-rushed towards the shorter man. Solaris side-stepped; Sarevok recovered instantly, his sword arcing around. It caught Solaris' side, and the mail of the Shattered Hand crunched. Blood appeared._

"_No!" Several voices cried out._

"_Heh," Sarevok raised his sword, then froze. Cythandria cast her spell; his armour flared. Another spell shattered. "Heh." Sarevok managed a half step forwards. A third spell struck him. He strode towards her, Solaris forgotten. A fourth. "Heh. Heh. Heh." Then his mail glove shot out, his sword pulled back. His fingers tightened around her throat._

"_I despise you," she hissed, somehow dignified in all of this, "I reject you. You are a slave."_

_His sword halted at the collective gasp._

"_We're not done," A growl made the warrior turn; a clawed fist smashed into his face-guard. Sarevok recoiled, dropping Cythandria as he involuntarily stepped back. Another crushing punch, this time to the belly. The black armour shuddered. Aihonen, not even the length of the werewolf's forearm, slammed forwards. Sarevok roared, and brought his own to bear. There werewolf swiped with his left. Sarevok charged forwards, hacking like a man possessed. There werewolf growled, his brother's blade biting into the elven mail and slicing flesh. He lunged, ramming shoulder into chest. Sarevok slid backwards, flailing for balance. As the werewolf advanced, the wound closed. The crowd watched in abject horror._

_Steel glinted, and blood flew. The tendons of his forearm severed, his left hung uselessly, Solaris snarled. Sarevok laughed, and swung again. Then he looked down. Aihonen was lodged in his chest. Blood began to drip from the former Grand Duke's mouth. He glanced around, wildly, desperately searching. His eyes locked onto Tamoko's; he read pity, grief, and love for the man he'd been. His gaze caught Cythandria; there was on contempt and scorn. No sword should have been able to pierce his plate._

_Solaris stood in front of him as a man._

"_It's over, brother."_

_As he sank to his knees, his foe caught him, "I had a vision; we stood together." Hesitation flared, his soft words ringing through the surreal calm. "Abandon this madness; reject our father. It's not too late."_

_Sarevok began to laugh. Tamoko's eyes welled._

_Edwina used the mirror._


	185. Kinda knew this was coming, See Chapter7

_He fingered the nymph's tear._

_There was silence. Men began to cheer; others began to rout. The yuan-ti pursued, the Flaming Fist gave chase. The clerics tended to the dead. Khelgar Ironfist hefted the head of Zhalimar Cloudwulfe. Jaheira's harsh cry split the air. Angelo Dosan was taken into custody. _

"_Took ya long enough," Imoen remarked to Sa'Sani, shouting over the stampede._

"_Githyanki." The yuan-ti princess answered dryly, the silver sword at her side. Magic enhanced her voice, and she hissed orders in her native tongue._

_The Neverwinterians looked stunned, afraid they had some new foe to fight. Then realisation dawned that the yuan-ti were on _their_ side. Laughter and hooting broke out, men hugging each other, giddy with relief._

_He didn't listen to any of it, his eyes closing. It was over. Gorion was avenged. Darkness enveloped him._

"_Welcome godchild." _

"_I am the last."_

_The smile faded, "No, godchild, there is one other."_

"…_Hasn't there been enough killing?"_

_She considered, then shook her head, "That is not for you to decide."_

"_Then let's finish this. Summon him here."_

_She did._

"_No! Why?"_

"_You knew this would happen, godchild."_

"_Huh – what's goin' on. Where're we? Who're _you_?"_

"_Imoen…"_


	186. Pink everywhere! Red's so boring

Mirtul, 1372 DR.

And that's how I became the new Lady of Murder.


	187. Now I gotta check it all, THANKS

"_Imoen, where are – what are you doing? Put that down! How did you get that?"_

"_If yer gonna leave it lying around…"_

"_I had it on my person!"_

_She smirked, "Not today." She ran her eye over him pointedly._

"_Oh." He looked sheepish for a moment, then shook it off, "Listen, you have to come; Xan thinks he's got the portal up, gods, he's casting–"_

"…_Where are we?"_


	188. Th that's all folks! And it's Boo

Epilogue

_From a pool in the pocket plane, Cespenar watched, shook his head and humming happily to himself, went back to work. Soon there would be a new master._

–

_Somewhere deep in the city of Ust Natha, in the slave pits between the kuo-toa and svirfneblin, Dynaheir sat. Once again, she cursed the Sahuagin that captured her, and the Drow that had found her with the others. Suldanessellar had fallen, and its demise had cost a terrible toll. A new god had arisen, and the planes would war because of it._

_The Lloth priestess arrived. It was time for the sacrifice._

* * *

><p>AN. And that's it for this time, folks. Thanks for reading!

For those who are interested, below is a list of (interesting? Non-generic) party items and a breakdown of Solaris' side.

20 armoured flesh golems, stone skin, and magic tattoos (12 ft. tall)

25 priests (spread through men at arms)

15 mages (spread through men at arms)

18 paladin(6) & cavalry reg (12)

18 paladin(6) & cavalry reg (12)

14 mounted knights

125 Neverwinter men at arms (pike, crossbow, sword and shield)

125 Neverwinter men at arms (pike, crossbow, sword and shield)

25 scouts Neverwinter (archers)

25 scouts Neverwinter (archers)

200 Tethyrians (mixed)

24 Duergar (shieldwall, hammers, picks and axes).

Khelgar Ironfist (with Duergar)

Lt. Noname (with Tethyrians)

Imoen – leading scouts

Alora – leading scouts

Khalid (with men at arms – he leads a small force forward and ends up spitted against Sarevok)

Jaheira (left flank)

Edwina (right flank)

Xan (back at base – trying to get the portal up)

Delainy (absent)

Cythandria (off field)

Sa'Sani (off field)

—

_Party Items_

Solaris' sigil: white and pink Amaryllis upon a field of 'night shadow's blue'.

Aihonen (sword carried by Solaris, infused with some of Belhifet's essence, slayer of Icasaracht)

Girdle (Solaris)

Skull of Icharyd the wight (Xan)

History of Ulcaster (tome)

Mythal Theory (tome, Xan)

Heartstone (scrying, Xan)

Moonblade (Xan)

Nether Scroll (one of fifty, Edwin)

Golem Building Book (Edwina)

Elven mail (several) – Severed Hand

Elven steel, arrows and bows – Severed Hand

Magic pouches

Magic satchels

Wands

Rods

Potions

Tattoos (Edwina – magical)

Amber Earring (Edwina – boost to spellcasting)

Kasseg, Cerebral Parasite (Edwina)

Charm of Infinite Recall (Xan – converts it to a spell in his spellbook)

Mirror of Imaging (Xan), Later, 'Mirror of Soul Extraction' (based off Anged Mirror of Yehcir-Eya*)

Portal Lens (Xan)

Nymph's tear (Solaris)

Nymph's hair (Edwina)

x8 manacles (anti-magic/miscast magic on holder)

Githyanki silver sword (Sa'Sani)

PST Spells:

Stygian Ice Storm (Edwina)

Swarm Curse (Edwina)

Pain Mirror (Edwina)

Howl of Pandemonium (Edwina)

Shroud of Shadows (Imoen)

Anged Mirror of Yehcir-Eya

(Minor Artifact)

Invokes "Soul Exodus"

The fanged mirror can be used against an opponent - when used, it will reflect a spectral version of the target that will appear and attempt to kill him.

* * *

><p>Kythorn 30, 1372 DR.<p>

…Edwina has a new familiar.


End file.
